


The Daughter of Holmes and Watson

by teakturn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/teakturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants a baby, and he's been trying to keep Sherlock from finding that out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Eloise Came To Be

John was in bed, a sleeping Sherlock sprawled across him. He'd been trying to follow his partner into the blank release of sleep for well on an hour but with no success. John was thinking about one thing, something that'd been on his mind for a long while now. Babies. John wanted one. Desperately. In his youth, he'd briefly entertained the idea of settling down with some nice girl, starting a family. Those thoughts took a backseat the day he met Sherlock. And not because he was in love with him, as everyone liked to say, but because in a way, Sherlock was his child. Sherlock needed someone to watch over him and have his back. Someone to make sure he's eating often and not missing sleep for days on end as he did from time to time. Sherlock required patience, patience John had never known he'd had in him, and attention. When Sherlock felt your attention waning he got dangerous and desperate. He was dramatic and you couldn't trust him with fire arms. Besides that, every time John met a nice girl that could lead to something more, Sherlock got in the way. Whether purposely or not.

John would drop what ever he was doing to help Sherlock with a case, leave a date if Sherlock left a cryptic text on his phone that simply said," _I need you._ " Girls had always remarked that they couldn't compete with him. Sherlock was the most important thing to him even before they were together,and when they finally did get together his thoughts of marriage and children went out the window. Sherlock could barely handle the mental slowness of _John_ , and John had always fancied himself quite clever, let alone a child that knew no better.So, with Sherlock in mind, he had resigned Children to be one of the many things he couldn't have.

But John couldn't fully put the blame on Sherlock for him putting his thoughts of children on the back burner. How could he raise a child with his chaotic existence he jokingly referred to as life. He barely had time for work at the clinic and helping Sherlock with cases, not to mention the idea of picking a little one up for daycare. What about the cadavers that frequented the kitchen, Sherlocks hazardous experiments.....

No. John would just have to be happy with the life he had with Sherlock. They'd been happily _Together_ for two years now, and everything was fine. Yes he still had to content himself with opening the fridge to a decapitated head but hey, he was used to that.

But really, John was terrified of bringing the subject of children up Sherlock. Not that he wanted a whole brood but _one_ would be bloody nice.

Above him, John felt Sherlock move, his breathing changed, and soon he was blinking blearily up at John with his mint blue eyes. John hadn't even noticed the change of light in the room,as dawn slowly approached. He mentally cursed at the fact that he would in fact be sleeping at work today, and this time he couldn't even blame it on a case. Within seconds of waking up, Sherlock had read John's exhausted face and the way he suddenly grimaced and surmised that John had not slept.

"You know John, for someone who's always on me about my sleeping habits, you certainly have no problem going against your own word." Sherlock said, his voice low and hoarse. The scratchy catch to his usual sensual baritone made John forget his retort for a moment before he just decided to drop it. Sherlock was trying to be funny, and while normally he'd crack a smile or even give him a dirty look, he found himself shrugging and moving to be out of the warmth of Sherlocks bare body.

This wasn't the first time Sherlock had woken up and started deducing his early morning habits. John foolishly hoped if he got out of his grasps fast enough, he could hide his suddenly routine thoughts about babies and try to find some sleep while he showered for work

The last thing he needed was for Sherlock to figure out his frustrations and feel he had to do something about it. If any one ever thought that Sherlock Holmes was heartless and selfish, they were wrong. Those were more like walls. The walls you have to climb over to get to the real him. Not to say Sherlock wasn't a pain in his arse near every day, but Sherlock showed his love in little ways. He had too much pride to outright tell John he loved him or he was sorry whenever they got into a fight, but he showed it in different ways. Subtle, and hard to track, but yes, they were there.

It be just like him to go out and grab a baby if he thought it would make John happy. Make John _stay_.

John wanted a baby to be something they both wanted. In fact he wanted Sherlock to bring up the idea, so he would know _truly_ it was something he wanted. John shook those thoughts from his head as he walked towards the bathroom. Thinking that way made no sense at all. Sherlock was content to let John into his heart because John knew how to handle him, they had a history with one another now, and they were nearly stitched together. Sherlock was content with this and at most the only thing he'd want to add to their relationship would be more sexually experimentation. Sherlock was always coming up with new moves or positions he wanted to try with John, and John happily, if eagerly, welcomed those additions.

But Sherlock has abandonment issues, and that's a light way of putting that Sherlock would lose his mind should John try to leave him. He was selfish when it came to John. Selfish on an almost primal level. John was the same, although differently. Sherlocks fear is that John will just get tired of him and leave, or that someone will offer him something that Sherlock can't (sometimes won't) give to him. So if Sherlock got it into his head that having a baby would forever cement John to him, he would agree instantly.

But John's fear is that one day Sherlock will just get bored of him. He's done it before, get bored of something and then never bother to end it. John knows that he'd stay with Sherlock no matter what, and that adding a baby wouldn't change his affections, but Sherlock is stubborn. Once he got it into his head that John wanted a baby and this was the way he'd get him to stay, he'd go out and adopted a bunch just to really make sure John didn't leave.

John had maybe five minutes of freedom before Sherlock let himself into his shower, and positioned himself to take all the hot water. John was dozing, leaning against the cold, slick tile as he snored lightly, enjoying the feel of the hot water hitting him. But since Sherlock was now in the way of his warmth, he woke up with a jerk, almost slipping if not for Sherlock suddenly grabbing him by the hips. "Are you going to tell me what's keeping you from sleeping or do I have to figure it out myself." He said simply. It still shocked John how comfortable Sherlock was with his body and nudity. Even though Sherlock had seen every inch of him, he still reached for the towel hanging off the shower rod. With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock deftly threw the towel out of his grasp and onto the floor. Scowling at him John finally answered," I don't know what you're talking about,"

Not convinced Sherlock raised an eyebrow and stayed silent. Telling John with a small smirk and a wink to try again.

"Can you not act like a child for once and let me shower? I have maybe an hour for a nap before I have to go to work." John put more acid into his voice than he really meant to. Lack of sleep, his baby frustration, and Sherlocks usual annoyance were all grating on him at once. He just wanted to shower and sleep. He didn't blame Sherlock for his reservations about bringing up babies, but it certainly didn't help that one of the reasons he _couldn't_ have a baby was in the shower with him taking up space and the hot water!

Almost immediately something in Sherlock closed. His walls slamming down one by one, although they'd been almost none existent in John's presence since they became....well what they were now. Without another word, Sherlock let himself out of John's shower and returned the towel to it place above John's head. A long silence followed his departure and John couldn't tell if Sherlock had left or not. Heaving a sigh, he washed himself quickly and got out the shower.

Silence had seeped into the walls, at least that's how it felt to John once he was dressed and fed

He entered the living room carefully, feeling a sense of foreboding like scary music just before a murder scene. Sherlock was unpredictable at best and when affronted he became unbearable. John prepared himself to deal with Hurricane Sherlock before steeling himself and entering the living room.But what he saw was nothing out of the ordinary. Sherlock was at his desk, on John's computer, staring intently at something on the screen. John had maybe an hour or so before he was expected at work, so he felt he could apologize to Sherlock and patch things up before he left. He would hate for Sherlock to get the wrong idea about him leaving and jump to foolish conclusions.

"Sherlock," he cleared his throat, before starting again,"look, I'm sorry about earlier, I was just-"

"Do you want to have a baby, John?"

Had John been drinking he'd have coughed up the liquid immediately before going into cardiac arrest right there. John couldn't remember ever bringing up his baby ideas to Sherlock. Not even post-orgasm when they both got a little honest as they came down from their climax. John had been careful, even more careful than he'd ever had to be when hiding his thoughts. Sherlock would look at him, at the way he moved his eyes or they way he swallowed and he'd know. So John had hidden those thoughts deep inside of himself.

"Your search history shows that you look at baby names and baby pictures almost daily. None of it is at night though, which doesn't explain why you haven't been sleeping...." He trailed off, and John took that as his cue to snap his laptop closed and shove it into his work bag. Sherlock sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers together under his chin."Have I not been satisfying you enough in bed, in the early days you'd orgasm, finish me, then go straight to sleep. Is that it?" Sherlock asked theses questions like one would ask about the time. John felt his face flame up and he briefly worried if your hair could catch fire from your ears feeling as hot as his did in that moment.

"Sherlock please-"

"I recall during your brief marriage to Mary that you entertained the idea of having children, what changed? You're in the same place financially, you're in a much stabler relationshi-Oh, I see." John started for the door at that. He'd done so well for the past few months keeping this from Sherlock. Now in a matter of seconds with nothing to go on but his internet history and the one time he mentioned having kids with Mary, Sherlock had everything all figured out

Sherlock rushed to put himself between the door and John,"It's me isn't it, I'm the cataclyst that changed you thoughts on having a baby! Oh John, how long have you been keeping this from me? How could I not have seen?"Sherlock jumped and clapped his hands together excitedly,"Oh it all makes so much sense. Your interest in the busty woman in the elevator all those days ago, it wasn't because of your sad weakness for breasts but for the baby in the stroller!"

John just wanted out of 221B right then and there. But Sherlock was doing a surprisingly effective job of positioning his skinny frame in the way of the door and John just wasn't up to pushing him out the way.

Sherlock was going back weeks which meant he'd no doubt go back months and then he'd be hurt. Sherlock took John hiding things from him the way a woman married ten years takes her husband cheating on her. Just now, though, Sherlock was on a high that he only got from figuring things out. And this time it was about John. Someone he knew everything about yet still managed to surprise him.

"John, let's have a baby!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AriartiHolmes](https://twitter.com/AriartyHolmes)  
>  If any of you have questions or just want to talk, go on an send me a tweet.


	2. The Late Night(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eloise is a baby and is keeping her daddies up all night.

The baby would _not_ stop crying. No matter what John tried. He picked her up and rocked her, but then remembered she didn't liked to be rocked but rather swayed side to side. So he swayed, back and forth, trying to be gentle at first but then,after stubbing his toe on her changing table, he got a bit impatient and began to get rough, so he got why she was crying now. He even tried to tell her, " Ellie, I understand. Papa knows, but please stop crying!"

Eloise wailed in response, almost as if she was answering him. John let out a frustrated huff."Way to give us warning about when _you_ wanted to be born. I'd have had a chance to read the baby books I put off if I had more time."Knowing that this was in fact a lie,he paused, then added,"you can thank your father for distracting me in the first place,"

Eloise had been born in March, and that'd been a surprise. John and Sherlock hadn't been expecting her for another month but the surrogate assured them that it was alright for the baby to be a couple weeks early. And with the size of her belly at that point no one could argue.

John hadn't been all that surprised at the birth, the surrogate was experienced and she handled the contractions as best she could but every moan or groan had Sherlock standing up and leaving the room.At the slightest groan or slightly sporadic beep on the monitor Sherlock got this look on his face, one that John could only call fear. Fear the baby wouldn't make it,fear that the surrogate was in too much pain to properly deliver the baby, and sometimes fear about what would come after the birth. _Who_ came after the birth. The months leading up to that day, Sherlock had acted as if he forgot ever deciding to have a baby. He worked on cases, ignored Anderson and riled up Mycroft. Even Mrs. Hudson was surprised when John mentioned in passing, since he assumed Sherlock would tell her,a dumb assumption he realized too late, about them having a baby. Mycroft knew, _of course_. And Lestrade didn't know until he called Sherlock in for a case and Sherlock was busy with Eloise.

They'd decided to do what was called the "swirl". Which from a medical perspective seemed a bit shady but John didn't question it. It involved two cups of semen, one from Sherlock and one from John, and then the egg of the surrogate. John hadn't wanted to know anything past that, but he knew this was the way he wanted to do it. It'd be a mystery who was the real father of the baby and John wanted it that way. It kept them from being jealous or pulling the,"I'm her real father card." which John wanted to avoid. He had a hard time trying to keep Sherlock from swabbing the babies mouth to take a DNA test, especially since John didn't get maternity leave and had to be back at work shortly after her birth. Which meant there are whole hours that Sherlock got with Eloise. Hours where John couldn't make sure he didn't swab her little mouth. John actually caught him red handed once in her nursery. He'd walked in after disposing a very toxic nappie disaster and found Sherlock gently trying to get her to open her mouth.

That was a month ago at least and Eloise's parentage was still a mystery. One thing John hadn't counted on was having a beautiful little girl he could call his own. She was the most beautiful baby John had ever seen and even Sherlock admitted ,smugly, "Of course, she's our child how could she not be beautiful." She was small, but long with these itty-bitty long feet that John couldn't help but play with and kiss constantly. At birth her skin had been pale and blotchy and her lips a bright strawberry red color. That had been the most surprising of all. Her lips. These little plump pink things that puckered themselves straight from the womb. The surrogate had large lips herself, plump and pretty like Eloise's. The surrogate's skin was a butterscotch brown and her hair thick and coarse. John didn't know what to expect when it came to Eloise, but her hair was wild and curly, her skin now beginning to darken into a perfectly toasted pastry color.She was beautiful in a way neither Sherlock nor John had anticipated. Her eyes were astonishing in their intensity. When she was first born they'd been blue. As time went on, they slowly turned into an intense shade of hazel. Sometimes green, sometimes chocolate brown. 

When he held her for the first time, Sherlock murmured," Let any boy who decides they want to be with you know that you Father knows how to dispose of a body _and_ has plenty of friends willing to do it for him.Plus Papa knows how to shoot a gun. With perfect aim."

Nights like tonight made John wonder about the very strong possibility that she was Sherlocks. The fact that she wouldn't allow him to put her to sleep, especially since he himself wanted to fall in bed right now, was one reason. But it was also the way she acted. She was the master of expressions commonly seen on Sherlocks face. That all suffering why-must-I-bother-with-these-imbeciles look that Sherlock got when he was on case and Anderson or Lestrade asked a dumb question. Even the way she cried and wailed reminded him of Sherlock. Not that Sherlock cried often, but he could imagine a baby Sherlock, raising hell and wailing for attention. Not much different from how he acted now.

John kissed the top of Eloise's sweaty curls that were plastered to her skin. He briefly wondered if Eloise had a fever, but dismissed it when he realized she'd been crying like someone was killing her for a long while and she was working up a sweat. Besides, all he could focus on was the pain in his arms and the fact Eloise seemed intent on him truly knowing just the extent he had offended her. No one put Eloise Holmes Watson to bed without suffering the consequences

He tried to feed her but she wouldn't drink the milk and would start coughing and choking in a way that made John's heart stop until it ceased. He tried changing her but she way dry. The only thing left was to get her to _sleep_ , but that was proving to be a futile effort.

John just wanted to cry. He wanted to cry with her and just give up and curl up into a ball. He was a horrible father and his baby hated him. That's the only explanation he could find to explain why she chose _him_ to wail and cry on. If Sherlock had her she'd be so silent he'd thought she'd gone to sleep. Sherlock had some power over her, which is another reason he suspected she was his. But that made almost no sense since the Holmes' hated each other on any given day.

"Sherlock!" John called downstairs to his partner. Sherlock had tried to take over putting her to bed an hour ago but John had refused him. He spent most of his days at the clinic,and then ,when he got home, he had to run off with Sherlock on some case while Mrs. Hudson looked after the flat and Eloise. He hardly got any time with her. So he decided that he'd be the one to bathe her and put her to sleep. Bathing had gone well enough but it seemed the second she realized she was being put to bed she threw a fit.

"Sherlock, please!" John called again, his voice cracking as he struggled to be heard over his daughter's power lungs.

Sherlock walked into the room calmly and quietly, taking Eloise out of his arms gently and immediately beginning to sway and bounce her. "John honestly, if you weren't being so stubborn we could have had her to bed hours ago." Sherlock said over his daughter wail.

"Sherlock she just won't go to sleep. She hates me! She doesn't know me, she thinks I'm some stranger who just-"

John had been yelling, to be heard over Eloise, but she was silent. Sherlock continued to sway and bounce her but his eyes were on John with a smug glint. That lasted until he realized that John was on the verge of punching him and curling into a ball of snot and tears.

"I can't fucki- how did you do that?" John whispered yelled to Sherlock as he placed his now sleeping daughter in her bassinet. "You were frustrated, stressed, and scared." Sherlock shrugged, "She could feel it in the way you moved and exclaimed. So she became irritated as well." Sherlock said clinically as he folded a blanket next to Eloise's head to keep her from rolling onto her stomach and suffocating. His voice softened momentarily as he said,"She doesn't hate you John, she's just trying to be difficult."He smirked sadly,"I'm afraid I'm becoming a really bad influence on her."

John shook his head and walked over to his partner, wrapping his arms around him and trying to calm his breathing. The last thing he wanted to do was cry. Over a baby who couldn't even successfully hold up her own head yet.

Sherlock didn't hesitate to return the hug and gave John the minute he needed to pull himself together. John cherished him in these moments. How anyone could ever believe that the love of his life, Sherlock Holmes was a sociopath or a lunatic he'd never understand. When ever John needed strength, needed someone to just hold him and be silent, allow him his moment of weakness, Sherlock stepped up to the plate. His sister hadn't returned his phone calls or texts since she found out about Eloise. Sherlock had been there, then, just like he was here now.

John was the first to pull away, and he busied himself picking up fallen toys and baby debri he'd kicked up while struggling with Eloise. He could feel Sherlocks gaze, following him around the room but he avoided it. He checked his watch once or twice during his cleaning, but the time never registered itself in his mind until the third time, when he forced himself to stop and look.

"It's well after midnight, John."

John turned, looking at Sherlock for a long moment before he smiled,"I'm not...exactlly tired."

He drawled purposefully, taking slow careful steps back into the embrace of his love.

Sherlock, for once, didn't seem to understand for a long moment what John was hinting at,"But John you were just complaining about her not sleeping enough and keeping you up all day. In fact you've probably only gotten 3 hours of full sleep, and we both know you need at least-"

John cut him off with a kiss. Chaste at first, then he deepened it to underline his true intentions.

When John pulled back to look at Sherlock, he saw that his eyes were closed, and that he'd started to follow his lips when he'd taken them away.

Fixing John with the most intense look of pure lust he'd ever allowed him to see, Sherlock squeezed him closer, making John whelp aloud unexpectedly and causing them both to look over at Eloise in a panic. If she woke up, that was the end of the....time the both needed alone with each other.

Luckily she slept on, and Sherlock turned his attention back to John

" _Upstairs.Now._ "


	3. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter and that has more to do with me working on another writing project than me not wanting to write.  
> Sorry.

John walked into the kitchen scrubbing the water in his hair with a slightly damp towel. Sherlock sat at his desk in the sitting room on his computer, tapping furiously and pausing only to tell John he'd like his morning tea.

John decided to ignore the fact that he didn't _ask_ him for tea and focused on the absence of his four year old daughter.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?

John popped his head back in to the sitting room and gave it a quick once over, but still saw no sign of Eloise. He was worried because from the time she could walk Eloise had a bad habit of letting herself out of the room and asking Mrs. Hudson for biscuits and tarts or, as she did once to John's horror, mess with Sherlock's chemistry set.

Sherlock was a bit upset at having his things touched but shrugged it off because it was Eloise, and said,"Well, what is she supposed to use to examine the cellular structure of her apple juice?"

John looked back into the kitchen just incase she was hiding under a table or something and still did not see her."Sherlock, wh-where is our daughter?"

Sherlock seemed to pause at that and look up from what he was doing. After a moments consideration he went back to his work,"We're playing a game off hide and seek and she want me to deduce where she is instead of actually...seeking."

John chewed the inside of his cheek as he mulled over this. Eloise was too competitive to just give up on a game she could win so he knew she wouldn't have done anything to ruin the game with her Father. He supposed she got that from him. But she also got bored and would sulk if she felt you weren't playing the game right. Something Sherlock himself would do. John considered a moment more then reasoned he had to just swallow his fears and trust Sherlock to find her.

"Remember you said you'd take her to her classes this morning, I have to be at the clinic in half an hour and I won't have time,"Silence on Sherlocks end,"Sherlock serious, I can't take her."John continued his run through of the kitchen, grabbing a hopefully clean mug from the rack and putting the kettle on. Eloise liked to leave her Papa _"surprises"_ in his dishes. John didn't know why he thought breeding another Sherlock would be a good idea, maybe it was the honeymoon phase...

Like Sherlock, Eloise liked to show off constantly no matter what it was. When Mycroft had briefly mentioned that she was graceful and had a sophisticated air so rarely seen in ladies her age she had insisted that John put on the pearls Mycroft had bought her for Christmas for a solid month. Once she had successfully learned a few moves from the ballet she'd seen on the telly and was practicing them at a crime scene while her Father and Papa worked on a case, she was great a mimicking what ever she heard or saw and soon she was twirling and spinning around the crime scene. Much to the delight of nosy onlookers, and the dismay of Sally. Sally hadn't supported Sherlock becoming a father from the beginning, and it really pissed her off at how Eloise has turned out so far. After over hearing Sally make a snide comment about children at crime scenes, Eloise immediately let it be known she wanted to be a ballerina and expected to be enrolled in classes as soon as possible. After a week she was annoying Sally even more now in complete ballerina ensemble, since Sherlock and John usually took her with them to crime scenes when it wouldn't involve murder.

Because Eloise was so smart she had a tendency to think she was older than she is and demand things like a spoiled brat. John had let her demands slide since he knew she picked up the bad habit from Sherlock and only corrected her once when it came up. Eloise would immediately correct herself. She knew better than to push Papa when he told her to behave, as hard as that is for her.

Eloise wasn't just graceful, she was bright. She was an avid reader and liked to sit in John's lap when he read the paper or helped Sherlock with his experiments whenever John was sure an explosion wouldn't happen. So John knew his daughter had put a lot more thought into her hiding place than just finding something to hide under. Eloise was a master at not being seen when she didn't want to be and since Sherlock was the only one she'd willingly play these games with, she's probably in a place Sherlock would never think to look.

John had offered once to play this game with her but she'd rather play doctor or write in her journal with him. 

Reaching up towards the drawer where he kept his favorite tea, John realized he'd need to make Eloise one as well, so he reached up to open the cabinet for her favorite mug that he had to negotiate with her to get it washed, and jumped back with a shout.

"Jesus!"John steadied himself on the table behind him,"Sherlock! My God- What did I tell you about scaring Papa?"John placed a hand on his rapidly beating heart and wondered if being scared to death with his hair still wet and in a semi-filthy kitchen was the way he wanted to go, because there, nestled among the cups, plates, and bowls, was Eloise. Beaming at her Papa like a little miniature sun.

"Oh, there she is." Sherlock murmured. 

Eloise just smiled and handed John the tea he needed. "Father and I are playing a game... well _were_ playing a game." She laughed as Sherlock, now smirking in the kitchen at John, scooped her out of the cabinet and into his arms, Sweeping her out of the kitchen while John once again wondered why he'd decided to reproduce.


	4. John Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my very short update the other day I granted you guys this LOOOOONNNNGGGGG one. Hope you like it!

Eloise was running around their flat with nothing on but ducky slippers and her woolen bunny Atherton hanging from her arm. Behind her, Sherlock stumbled about, slipping ungracefully in his socks on the wooden floors, trying hard to get a grip on the slippery girl.

"John, I need your assistance." After a loud crash in the kitchen followed by a giggle from Eloise, Sherlock added,"Please!" In the most defeated sort of whine that John had only ever heard in bed at night when John teased him. Another loud crash and John could see Eloise taking the stairs two at a time, her skinny bare legs launching her gracefully up the steps. Sherlock appeared a second later, running to the foot of the stairs and stopping, pausing to listen and hear where his daughter had gone next.

John just chuckled and went back to his writing. He wasn't writing really anything of importance. Replying to comments on his blog, looking up old friends from the days before Sherlock, before he was shot. Sherlock asked for this, more or less, and John planned to give him what he wanted

Eloise had caught a cold for the third time in about a three month span and John blamed Sherlock for taking her out with out her proper coat and shoes. When he was inspired and it was his day for her, he just carried her around on his shoulders or held her hand while he ran around London, no matter the weather. Then once she was sick and miserable, he'd leave John to taking care of her and cleaning her up while cried and burned up with a fever. John didn't mistake that as him not caring. He loved Eloise almost more than he loved John, and would do anything for her should she just ask. Except wipe her snotty nose or clean up when she got sick all over herself.

John was sick of it. He was always her wet nurse, or the parent being responsible. Punishing her when she acted out, wiping the snot from her nose when she was sick, walking her to her morning ballet classes, forcing her to eat her vegetables at dinner. John. John. John. And while he honestly didn't mind being the responsible parent, especially since it's _him_ she calls for in the middle of the night, but Sherlock had once again undermined everything he did. So John said," If it's so easy you wouldn't mind being on duty today then? WIl you? Because in my old age it's so hard to keep up with my work and raising two children." Sherlock opened his mouth to correct John, they only had Eloise. But then he realized what and _who_ John was talking about and that was enough to bait him into agreeing.

"Eloise, come here right now so I can dress you. Bedtime in ten minutes." Sherlock warned from their room, his voice muffled and John assumed he was checking under the bed for her and coming up with nothing. Smirking at his computer he called to his frazzled love, trying and failing to keep how smug he felt at once again being right out of his voice he said,"She's upstairs darling."

He heard Sherlock let out a loud huff before going up the stairs,"Obviously." John just smiled and sipped his tea. It's his own fault that Eloise gets this way. He indulges her too much. John thinks it's a reflection of is own childhood. Sherlock didn't talk of it that much, he usually waited until after they've made love, the both of them just a sweaty tangle of fatigue and limbs. He'd tell John bits and pieces, jumping around his life and skipping whole decades if he felt like it. But John said nothing, he just listened to him. Tales of his lonely childhood. Mycroft was seven years older than him, practically his own man by the time Sherlock came along. He was always in Mycrofts shadow, the brilliant older brother who was a bit too smug and liked to rub Sherlocks inferior intelligence in his face whenever he could. He was misunderstood and practically tortured once he reached school and, John was quick to realize, he was never awarded as the child prodigy he clearly was. Sherlock needed someone to listen to him then and now, so he acts as ears for Eloise's every whim. Just so she'll never have to feel inferior, never have to worry if her parents truly loved her as Sherlock himself must have done multiple times.

So he spoiled Eloise rotten.Sherlock reasoned she was old enough to be trusted with some decisions pertaining to herself as he must have felt he was at her age and looked indignant when John grudgingly had to explain that she's six! That didn't stop Sherlock from constantly allowing her to stay up with him well into the night, knowing full well she had school the next morning or testing her deduction abilities. He even tests her apparent eidetic memory which he was drawn and surprised about. He allows her to handle chemicals when he's experimenting, much to John's horror. He tried to convince Eloise to practice more on her ballet and violin since she's shown an interest in it, but she learned the moves after practicing them once and she was very nearly as good as Sherlock when it came to playing the violin. John was one more explosion in the kitchen he considered taking her to the range since she had a bad case of sticky fingers and liked to play with his gun. Eventually, John reasoned if he wanted Eloise handling chemicals around anyone it would be best that it's Sherlock himself.

Then he snapped to his senses and forbade Eloise to touch anything that she needed to wear gloves and protective clothing to use and that if he even saw her so much as holding a beaker of mysterious fluid he would forbid her from going with them to St Barts. That made him the bad guy, _again_ , But it had to be done. Sherlock allowed her to do anything she liked and should she throw a tantrum he'd just pick her up under her arms and hold her as far from him as possible, running to where ever John was and depositing her in front of him with a,"Make it stop John I can't focus!"

Upstairs he heard Eloise start screaming and knew what would come next. Sherlock would panic and try to reason with her, negotiate, compromise and promise her things he made her swear not to tell John, but none of it would work. Then Sherlock would get impatient, which is rare when it comes to Eloise, and start spouting off how illogical tears are and that if she's expecting him to pick her up and baby her like John does she's sadly mistaken. But Eloise was clever enough to know it took a full 30 seconds to get John to run to her and pick her up. She knew for a fact that _he_ would talk about it with her and listen before helping her reach a compromise while Sherlock would get angry and throw a tantrum as well.

Hard to believe John actually wanted a baby when, in all honesty, Sherlock was basically as much of a kid he needed. Eloise was a lot milder than Sherlock, she knew when not to push her luck and wouldn't go into a sulk when she was bored or affronted. But she was very manipulative, John was sure that while he was gone during her infancy Sherlock coached her on the ways to get people to trust you for as long as you needed them to so you'll get what you want.

"Papa! Papa!" He heard Eloise sob over and over again and it made his chest hurt. He meant to punish Sherlock, show him that it wasn't easy handling a six year old as utterly intelligent, manipulative, and tiring as Eloise had a tendency to be. But in his haste to finally be right about _something_ he forgot about what that was going to do to his daughter. John kept her on a strict minute to minute schedule, something he knew Sherlock loathed but it kept Eloise at least partly manageable. She was supposed to be in bed at least a whole hour ago. This threw everything he'd ingrained into her out the window, because as long as Sherlock chased her it was play time. Nothing was serious if Sherlock was the one doing it. At least that's how she acted whenever John watched their interaction. He knew it wouldn't last though. This giddy hunt because he can hear Sherlock's frustration with every huff and puff. Eloise herself was giddy and red in the face from laughing and running as fast as she could around the flat. John just pressed his lips into a thin line and pretended to be interested in the friend request from a girl he hasn't seen since his A levels. It was Sherlocks time to be there for her when she cried. While she knew Sherlock to be the fun and mentally stimulating parent, she knew John as the comforter. The one who would kiss her scraped knee or hug her tight when she's had a tough day at school. She didn't need a stuffed toy like most of the other children she knew had, she just need her Papa in his jumpers and smelling like tea. Holding her close. _Eloise can handle herself_ John could hear the cold clinical voice and the slight warmth in Sherlocks voice when he talked about Eloise in any context. But she was riled up now. This could go on for hours. While she was running all she could feel was that hyper high from all the sugar Sherlock had allowed her today. But when the game is over, she'll crash, and be in a mood.

John knows this because he watches her at night while Sherlock spends the afternoon with her because of his schedule with cases and lack of sleeping. Especially when he's in a manic state during a truly riveting case about murder. Immediately most of the parent work falls to John. He's had basically all the night shifts so he knows how to handle her when she gets like this, breathless, hyper, giggly, insisting she's "not at all tired", all the while rubbing her beautiful eyes. Now she's crying. the game is over and she's too tired to play. She feels like Sherlock's being mean and won't cooperate enough for him to get to bed. She just want s her Papa. She just wants John. And Sherlock has no idea what to do to get her to stop crying since he's bragged in a condecending tone that he could handle her. For once, John knows something Sherlock doesn't

"Papa, Papa please I'm tired I want ta' go ta' bed. I don't want ta' play any more. Papa!!" Eloise sobbed like she'd just had her heartbroken. It made John's throat close up at the sound. It hurt him more than the bullet in his shoulder did to hear her sob like that. He listened for Sherlock's reply to her pleas, but heard nothing, only the slight creak in the floor boards as he adjusted his feet. John didn't care about being right any more, he just wants to hold his baby and be the big teddy bear she needs right now.

Before Sherlock can even come and get him, he's upstairs and already bending down to take his daughter's skinny frame in his arms. His shoulder pains him briefly but he ignores it to focus on his crying child.He hugs her tightly and allows her to sob into his shoulder."I've got it."He murmured to Sherlock who was still standing in the doorway, watching with a morose interest in what John was doing. _He's hurt she didn't choose him. He's hurt that she allows me to do this for her yet relegates him to plaything._ John found himself thinking this, but shooed away the thoughts and focused on making sure Eloise actually got to bed this time.

"Alright, love, lets have a look at what Father got you into, okay?" John speaks softy, peeling away from her vice like grip around his neck to survey what Sherlock managed to get on her before she screamed. While he commended him for getting the proper night clothes out, he smirked at the fact that not only was it on backwards, but it was inside out as well. While he quickly rearranged her clothes, Eloise stood still, her breathing slowly returning to normal and the red tint to her caramel brown skin fading. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand but only managed to spread the wetnes all the way back towards her ear. Same thing with her snot. When she wiped at her nose, the snot spread back across her hand and over her cheek.

He tisked and reached into the drawer near her bed and produced a pair of wet wipes, Wiping as gently as possible at her face and hand before walking her to the bathroom to make sure she brushed her teeth. Once she finished he could see just how tired she really was and carried her back to her room.

He tucked her in the special way she like and kissed her cheeks,nose, and forehead, laying upon her "Papa Protection" from the criminals her father had yet to capture. She was asleep before he even got to her nose, but he finished the silly ritual any way.

In the sitting room, Sherlock stands with his back to him, staring out the window into the dark and relatively quiet streets. He's stiff before John even touches him, and it makes him feel bad. John wraps his arms around Sherlocks slim waist, ignoring the way he tenses up even more. "You did better than expected."John whispers into his shoulder before placing a gentle kiss on the white dress shirt. It's a lie, they both know. Eloise had a jar of peanut butter for breakfast because Sherlock was in too much of a mood to properly feed her, she had an accident at school because she got there a little late and while Sherlock argued with the teacher about it he didn't react in time to get her to the restroom, her usually silky coiled light brown hair was in knots on her head because Sherlock couldn't properly pin them up in the specific way she wanted him to, and he ruined the kitchen cooking her dinner.... John doesn't even want to think about the bathroom. Not now because then he'd start crying and that just wouldn't do. He needed to be alert and sympathetic for when Sherlock finally decides to relax and admit why he's upset.

"She always calls for you, you know?" Sherlock says quietly, suddenly as if he's carrying on the conversation he'd been having in his head with John. John doesn't say anything, he knows he's not done yet and speaking now would only make him more quiet so he could process what had been said. "At school today, when she.... well, when she did _that_ she started sobbing in that high pitched breathy way she does when she doesn't want to cry yet can't stop herself, and she's looking everywhere but at me as I try to take her to the bathroom before the other kids notice and she started sobbing for you."Sherlock paused to close his eyes. John take this moment to turn him around and kisses his lips very gently. Sherlock just barely returns the kiss. Only slightly puckering his mouth just as John is beginning to pull away.

"She needs us both, just in different ways. Don't let that get to you."

"Yes she needs me to test her, to tell her she's brilliant and to play the violin with her or when she's dancing, but she goes to you for the....." When he pauses John doesn't think he'll ever finish, and in a way, he doesn't need to. John understand what it feels like to feel like the inferior parent, to feel like your not as great a parent as the other in the kids' eyes. John knew it was simply ridiculous, he adored Eloise and he knew she loved him as well, but he couldn't do what Sherlock does for her. Just like Sherlock can't provide the same things John does. It's a balancing act, this parent thing. John can see that no matter what he's lacking in Sherlock more than makes up for it when it comes to Eloise, and vice versa.

But Sherlock had a knack for being a right git when he wanted to be, and he still saw her reluctance to allow him to comfort her as a slight.He sees it as some way she can one day leave him. Choosing John over him and then John in turn choosing Eloise over him. John knows it'll never come to him leaving him, never, but Sherlock knows that if it's for the better of Eloise, he'd do anything. So John sees his insecurities, sees exactly where his doubts are coming from and decides to stamp them out right then and there.

"Oh shut up you wanker! If you can't see that that girl adores you then how brilliant can you be? Observant much? She goes to you for things I couldn't hope to compete with. I couldn't even recall the name of the composer who made the stupid music for her ballet teacher when she was asking if I could get the music for the recital. I'm the one who can only remember certain elements on the periodic table when she needs _all_ of them to be ready for class. Sherlock she goes to you for things and she goes to me for things because she knows she can." He's still stiff, so I turn him around roughly and make him look at me.

"So you had an off day, you think I didn't in the beginning? Come off it!" Sherlock blinks at my outburst. He hadn't expected that, and to be honest, neither had I.

Sherlock blinks once more, and the entire room is filled with this almost tangible tension. Before John can go red from embarrassment, he pulls Sherlock's face forward for a rough kiss, brushing his hands up from his waist until they're on his face, holding him in place. Within moments Sherlock is all moans and whimpers, but John is still in control. Until Sherlocks hand began to lift the hem of his jumper that is, and John uses his last bit of confidence and strength to smugly whisper against Sherlocks lips,"I think you owe me an apology. Turns out I'm more brilliant at something than you are."


	5. Trip to the Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise character, sorry

It's unbearably hot in the park John decided to take Eloise to, and he can't help but feel like maybe it wasn't worth it seeing her all flushed faced and breathless as she runs up the slide and swings on the monkey bars. But then she runs up to him, hands clasped around something she's bursting with excitement to show her Papa, and John decides the heats well worth it.

"What've you got there, love?"John smiles and leans forward for a better look. Behind her a group of five or six kids stands waiting for Eloise to come back and play with them. She's charmed every kid she's met so far at the park and they won't start a game without her. John thinks it's strange, that she acts just as Sherlock does, but with little traits she picked up from John to soften her sometimes hard to manage personality, and everyone is absolutely mad for her. From the parent willing to share the snacks they packed for their children with her to the ice cream man who willingly gave Eloise a free treat.

Opening her hands bit by bit, to keep what ever she'd caught in her grasp, she shows John a butterfly. Not a very big one, but small and pretty all the same. John gives an over excited gasp, just to hear her laugh and go,"Papa!" In her sweet whine as she pretends to be embarrassed. But he can see she's delighted by his reaction. John takes her small hands in his own and slides the small creature into his grasp before kissing Eloise on her nose and nudging her with his arm to go on and play with the kids, still waiting behind her.

You'd think they'd came specifically just to see Eloise by how they all light up when she runs back to them. John watches her movements for a little while longer before paying attention to the butterfly in his grasp. He knows he'll have to let it go but it's nice to have something in his hands. Keep them from shaking every time he thinks about the last few weeks. He and Sherlock have been fighting and it's the worst thing he's ever experienced.

Lost in his thoughts, JOhn doesn't react in time to avoid getting smacked in the back of the head by several bags full of books and groceries."Oh, sorry.... all these bag's wait, John?" Bumped from behind, John turns to see who the flustered offender is, and promptly loses the butterfly in his hands and not bothering to feel bad he let it fly away.

"Mary...." John's flustered for a moment. He hadn't seen Mary since the day he signed the papers, ending the short year they'd been married, and then being suddenly thrust into a relationship with Sherlock a month or so after, didn't give him enough time to try to keep in touch as she had asked of him. She looked good, thinner, but not in a bad way. Her hair was longer, and lighter from being in the sun. John wondered what she was doing here, from what he could remember about her daily rituals when they were married she'd be at work right now. But then again John would be too, but with things going so well financially with cases he hadn't need to work at the clinic as much.

Feeling like a downright git, John immediately moved to help Mary settle her many bags on the cement next to the bench he'd been sitting on, and offering her the seat next to him. She accepted graciously and without protest, smiling at John and brushing invisible stray hairs from her face with her small hand. "So...." She starts and leaves it hanging in the air between them, giving John the opportunity to start a conversation. John's still flustered, trying to figure out what to say to the ex-wife you divorced because you realized you had feelings for you best friend / flat mate / partner. Thankfully, Mary realizes this and picks up," Are one of these sweeties yours?" She speaks lightly, but John can hear the tightness in her voice at the thought of John married to someone else, with a kid. Or worse yet, _kids_.

John can even see her try to subtly glance at his left hand, and seeing it bare of a ring, she brightens up a bit more, letting her leg touch him when before she'd kept all her limbs as close to her body as she could with out it being all that noticeable. John clears his throat and points at Eloise where she stands atop the roundabout, holding court among the other young kids. Wild curly hair blowing and glowing brown in the wind, bright amber brown eyes shinning almost green when she points to the other play equipment. John surmises she's probably giving the best bloody speech of her young life and resists the urge to call her over and introduce her to the woman who could have one day been her mother.

"Eloise! Love, come here, papa wants you to meet someone." Hearing her name, she turns to where John is on the bench and immediately drops the role of leader to her young army and back to the little eight year old John loves so much. She's running at them, hair whipping behind her, and throws herself into John's arms. As usual she's dramatic but John lets that slide because for a few seconds the nervous knot in his chest and stomach loosens. Eloise kisses his cheek before she lets go and stands expectantly in front of John and Mary.

"Oh.. she's beautiful. Hello sweetheart, I'm Mary Wa-" Mary breathed out a little sigh, and where her leg had once been pressed against his own, she now moved it and focused on how she was going to introduce herself to John's daughter. John saved her by jumping in and deciding to bite the bullet and tell Eloise. She'd wheedle it out of him any way or figure it out herself but John didn't want her telling Sherlock and making it sound like he was trying to hide Mary.

"Eloise this is Papa's friend Mary Watson. I knew her before you were born, care to introduce yourself?" John forced a tight smile and gave Eloise a meaningful look. He didn't want to tell Mary about his involvement with Sherlock, so he'd rather let her figure it out through his daughters name. He wasn't ashamed of his relationship, especially since everyone claimed to know way before they were even actually together, but because Sherlock had royally pissed him off he just didn't know what they were at this point.

Eloise smiled her most charming smile and held out her hand for Mary to shake. "Eloise Holmes Watson. Are we related at all? You have the same last name as my papa." Eloise talks fast, changing tone and topics as quickly as Sherlock does. John can see how flustered Mary is, and how confused. "Eloise," John's voice is warning, usually the only one she needs. As he expected Eloise apologizes and runs back to the children, picking up where she left off as if she'd never left.

"She's.... so you're....umm." Mary's struggling to find something to say and John can't blame her. "Not gay, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just... Sherlock specific I guess." He rubs his hand over his face suddenly feeling old and tired. He should probably get Eloise ready to go. They've been staying at a house Mycroft got for them while John is taking his break from Sherlock and he thinks Eloise is just about ready for her violin lessons. But then Mary has to go an ask. She has to ask where he is since it's so inconceivable that John be _anywhere_ without Sherlock.

"He... we're not on good terms at this moment in particular. He..." John sighed and rushed through the rest,"He lost her, okay? He went somewhere and he left her and I spent hours thinking the worst things and I was just so afraid and he seemed..."John rushed and tried to make this as painless as possible, but the truth was it hurt. Sherlock had acted as though it was another case, taking any human empathy he had and burying it somewhere deep. It scared John how easily he could turn it off that connection he had for him and people, for _Eloise_. And he'd left her! That'd been the worst part. Sherlock had been so deep into a case that he forgot their daughter at a crime scene. And it wasn't even with the regular people who are used to seeing Holmes and Watson with their little girl. No, it was somewhere that had never worked with Sherlock before and didn't know what to do with a little girl.

John had been at the clinic, so he couldn't go with Sherlock and Eloise to the crime scene. When he came home and Sherlock was pacing the room, trying to think, John didn't react. He just assumed Eloise was somewhere in the flat, probably writing in the journal John had gotten her a few months ago, so he set about putting up the groceries. When he called to Eloise to get his welcome home kiss, she didn't come down. So John went up. He checked her closet, under her bed, in the bathroom, his room, the kitchen.... John began to really panic when he checked the bathroom. Usually she'd turn up, too impatient to wait for him to find her. When Sherlock came out of his haze to see John panting and looking wild with worry all he'd said was,"Oh," Really soft and quiet. That had been it for John

While Sherlock was off looking for Eloise, John packed a bag for himself and his daughter, telling himself repeatedly that this was what's best for the child. He called Mycroft and asked if he had a house he could let him and Eloise stay at until he'd found a new flat. Mycroft already knew what was going on and sent a driver for them both to wait outside. After he put the bags in the sitting room, he went over what he'd say to Sherlock once he came back. But what could he say? The one reason John couldn't let himself forgive Sherlock, as he'd done countless times, was because it was Eloise. Didn't matter if Sherlock forgot him or left him somewhere, John was confident in their genuine love for one another and got over it easily. But not to Eloise. Sherlock couldn't do that to Eloise. Sherlock came back home flush faced with Eloise thrown over his shoulder who was laughing and wheezing from being tickled. "Hello Papa!" John just gave his daughter a tight smile. "Go get you heavy coat, love." He said softly. By that point Sherlock had deduced what was going on, and John couldn't read what was behind the cold marble of his closed off face.

SIlence settled over them as Eloise made her way upstairs. They regarded each other warily, Sherlock because he was looking for anger or some type of rage, and John because he was trying to remember the compassionate man he'd come to love. Sherlock found emptiness, and John.....John couldn't see anything past that moment where Sherlock simply said,"Oh." 

"You're leaving,then."

"Yeah, I... I am."

"I knew where she was John, I think you're-"

"Don't."

John kept his voice low and tight. He felt empty, defeated and lost. He loved this man so much, yet Eloise was his _daughter_. How could he endanger his child that way. And John's always more than trusted Sherlock with Eloise, but she'd have had to have been there for hours, and yet Sherlock just sat at the flat, preoccupied with some stupid case while their daughter sat on the precinct steps, waiting for one of them to come and get her. Eloise probably didn't even know she'd been forgotten, or at least didn't care since just like she expected one of them showed up to take her away. When she came back to them, John allowed her to say good bye to Sherlock before he pulled her and their things out the door. Without having to look back at the windows on their flat, John knew Sherlock was watching him. But he focused on Eloise, getting her in the car and their next move.

Mary grabbed is hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. He sighed, not wanting to cry in a park full of children and his ex. "I'm sorry you're having troubles. Is there anything I can do?"

John considers for a moment asking her to watch Eloise while he goes around the corner to cry, he considers asking her to tell him why men are so clueless but that's a road he doesn't want to go down. So he settles for asking her to come with him while he takes Eloise on the short walk back to the house he's now staying at. "We can catch up and Eloise can show off her ballet and violin skills. It'll be a real treat!" John's trying, and luckily Mary sees that and agrees.

With one hand holding Eloise and the other moving around as he talked with Mary about the old days. He was feeling better than he had in weeks and he could tell Eloise noticed it. Smiling at Mary, giving her a little mental check mark next to her name so she'd remember that Mary was the woman who'd made her Papa smile again. John almost didn't notice the dark figure watching from the very edges of the park with hands thrust deep into his pockets. Luckily Eloise did.

"Father!" Eloise bolted and ran to the tall pale figure who scooped her up and held her close, even thought they'd both agreed she was much too old for that any more. "Father do you know Mary Watson, she's Papa's friend! She has the same name as me!" Eloise was all giggles and smiles, pointing to each person as she spoke to them and looking at John for his approval. Sherlock studied John and Mary with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out how they were here together, talking and laughing as if was the old days and they were married. John could see the anger, his annoyance, and his hurt all in his eyes, while his mouth smiled and talked in a sticky sweet baritone to their daughter, "Eloise, can you take Mary over there and show her the moves to the solo you did at your last recital?"

Although Sherlock had asked her if she could, Eloise knew he was telling her to get out of the conversation and take Mary with her because it was a private one between her two dads.

"John-I....I will not beg you to come home, but I will ask you to. You may think I don't understand why you're upset, or why you chose to take Eloise. But I do."

"Sherlock it's like she wasn't a real person to you. You forgot her, left her among strangers, and then acted like that wasn't a big thing. How can you-"

"We both know Mycroft was watching her the whole time, and I know that I was wrong, but I never acted like her being lost wasn't serious, I just knew that you'd overreact and if I did as well, then Eloise would have spent more time out and alone."

John pauses. Could this be an apology? Sherlock had tears in his eyes, but John had seen him shed tears at the drop of a hat just to get the answers he needed out of someone. Still unsure even as Sherlock looks away as the tears fall, John stays quiet and lets him continue.

"Before, before you and Eloise and the home we've created out of 221B Baker St, I was lonely, and angry. I've never been as happy as I am when I'm with you and Eloise. Even the unnecessary parts. So I am sorry John, that I hurt you and that I put Eloise in that position. Please come home."

John bites the inside of his cheek and pretends to think. He forgave Sherlock the second he saw him standing there. The Sherlock he'd first met would never have shown up at the park, let alone apologize, but he's obviously changed and wants John to know that. John must be taking to long to say he forgives him because Sherlock opens his mouth to say more.

"Alright, alright shut up. I forgive you, just no more speeches okay?"John clamps his hand on Sherlocks mouth, but he can still see the crinkle of his eyes and feels his mouth move against his palm.

"Get rid of Mary and bring your stuff home, I expect you to be in bed in an hour or so."

"Wha-Why?"

"I've been told that the best part of being in a relationship and fighting is the make up sex afterwards. It's been exactly one week and three days since the last time we've had sex and I do believe we've just made up so..."

Sherlock flashes a suggestive smirk and wink, effectively turning John knees to jelly.

"Whoa, whoa, don't let Donovan hear that, she'll think you're capable of sexual arousal and love."


	6. Uncle Mycroft

Although Mycroft had given her and her father a home to live in during the time when her dad's weren't happy, payed for both her violin and ballet lessons, and had a driver come and pick her up from school whenever her dad's are on a case, you couldn't say that Eloise was all that close to him. To her, he was the distant Uncle who periodically gave her two car loads of gifts and clothes whether it was her birthday or a holiday, she could never truly pick apart his motives for helping her or her dad's. Yes, she knows that he's he Father's brother, obviously, no one with an intelligence as high as his could be related to any one she knows and judging by the constant insults thrown at him from her Father's side why would he willingly pay thousands so that Eloise could get the very best in education was confusing. She'd even briefly entertained the idea that it was the same situation as that Mary woman Papa seemed so uncomfortable around. He did have Father's last name. But even she knew that wasn't quite it.

"Are you just going to stare at me?" Eloise asked. She sat with perfect posture in a soft ornate chair that had to have cost thousands, while Mycroft lounged in an identical chair, umbrella within easy grasp of his slightly pudgy fingertips. They'd been having what felt like a staring contest since Sherlock and John had put her into the black car with a kiss on her head, a request to behave herself, and a nudge in her uncles direction. In that time, Mycroft has watched her every move like he didn't trust her not to spontaneously combust and ruin his seats and floors just to spite him because she's Sherlocks daughter. With nothing better to do she'd stared back, picking at the similarities Mycroft had with her father.

She noticed that although her father's face was slimmer they both had reasonably high cheekbones, although the amount of extra..... on Myrcrofts face hid it. Where Sherlock was lean and angular, Mycroft was all soft edges. Maybe the one thing they both had in common besides intelligence and the ability to smile while saying the scariest things was their height. Eloise wondered if she was going to be as tall as him or her father. It wouldn't be a bad thing, but she quite enjoyed being just small enough to climb into John's lap. Even though she was much too old for it at this point. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her in silence, sipping at the same drink he'd had made once they entered the door. Seeing that he wasn't going to say anything anytime soon, Eloise went back to her observations. Both have an affinity for suits.Mycroft goes for a three piece, never forgetting his umbrella, while her father goes for slim, tailored and obviously designer but can't be bothered to get a tie. It was strange, how much Sherlock fought being similar to a man he supposedly hated yet they had _so many_ similarities.

"Your posture,"Mycroft began, words soft voice, it was like a warning. The calm before the storm. Eloise heard it in her own father's voice whenever he dealt with clients and he was collecting as much data as possible. It was to put you at ease, or better yet to prepare you for whatever you had to say. Sherlock used it on her whenever she'd get a call from school telling her dad's about her latest antics that usually resulted in a trip to the headmistresses office. Not wanting him to see he'd gotten to her, Eloise cocked her head at a perfect angle. Expertly forming her face into a blank and open stare. Mycroft smirked, obviously amused, but paused to drink again before continuing. She wondered what he had to say about her posture. She never slouched. Whether that had to do with her background with ballet or violin, or maybe it was the conscious decision she'd made when she was seven or six to have posture like her father. To look like she had a military background that way they could see she meant business like they see when talking to John. Sherlock had told her many times that not everyone sees things that they do. They were all imbeciles stumbling along blindly and paying attention to the most inconsequential of things.

The waiting was getting annoying, so despite wanting to show him he couldn't intimidate her she let her irritation show."What of it?"

Mycroft smiled then, happy to have gotten a reaction out her, seeing the touches of Sherlock all over her as if he'd written his initials into her skin in permanent marker. From the way she looked about the room, picking apart every detail in seconds, she was almost as fast as Mycroft himself, to the way she exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and motioned for him to get on with it. Mycroft smiled as he realized she also had Sherlocks infuriating disability to think before she reacted and she'd just shown him her true colors. "Do you sit that way purposely, to mimic your....Papa, or do you truly believe you need to sit like you in school when you're around me?"

Eloise narrowed her eyes, not liking the way he was speaking to her. Mocking her affectionate name for her father, John. She'd never gotten into the habit of calling him Dad or Daddy because they sounded absolutely absurd. "Are you postponing your afternoon meal because you don't want me to make fat jokes and report them to my father or are you not sure what I can eat?" The look of shock, however brief it was, was entirely worth that shot in the dark she'd taken. She knew Mycroft had problems with his weight, without her father making constant inquiries as to how his latest diet is going. She could see it in how tightly he fastened his vest, how he unconsciously sucked in his stomach as he sat down or stood up, even the way he'd eyed the tarts Mrs. Hudson always packed for her as a treat for lunch at school when they'd shown briefly as she assessed how long it would take to do her homework and whether it'd be worth it to do the 15 minutes needed for the six hour work load.

While Eloise relished in her little victory, she steeled herself for Mycrofts next move. He ground his teeth together before visibly stopping himself and focusing on Eloise once again. "Did you change back into your school uniform to make it look like you'd been at school all day or do you just enjoy dressing like a proper young woman for once?" Eloise schooled her expression into bored indifference. Sure, she didn't spend all day at school, but that was none of Mycrofts business. As little as Mycroft knew her he still knew she preferred more casual wear to the constant formality of dresses and dress shirts and skirts. She absolutely hated stockings, and having to school her unruly hair into the proper ribbons and headbands that were accepted as dress code at her all girls private school was torture. So every other day she took a holiday. She went to the beach, the library, even skulked around St. Barts since the staff knew her and waved her on through. They may not have realized she should've been in school but she stuck to the labs and stayed out the way so they kept their mouth shut. It wasn't all that hard to get away either. She started the walk to school as she usually did every morning then using the various alley ways she'd memorized with her father she traveled the streets of London relatively unnoticed.

Everything she's ever heard about Mycroft must be true then, he had eyes and ears all over. Mycroft must have noticed her change in confidence, must have seen the way her hands suddenly became slick and sweaty despite the cool air that filled the rather large room. "Are you going to tell them?" Eloise spoke through clenched teeth. She didn't like that Mycroft knew he'd won this round between them without her having to voice her defeat. Mycroft considered for a moment, raising his eyes and pursing his lips,"No, if your Father hasn't figured it out by now I think I'll let you to it. Just one thing,"

Eloise prepared for the worst, waiting for him to ask her to spy on her father, or sneak special cases to him, or give intel on anything that had to do with her Sherlock. John had told her of the offer Mycroft had given him upon first meeting him and the subsequent bugs and cameras that followed their every movement. Eloise was prepared to say no, then scold him for even thinking that she, his _daughter_ would do that. She'd rather risk John's anger at her not going to school than Sherlocks betrayal at her selling him out to Mycroft. But Mycroft just snapped his fingers and a tall man that Eloise recognized as the driver form earlier came into the room carrying something in his hand.

"Carry this around with you so I can at least know where you are should you stray from where I can watch you. Wouldn't want anything happening to the Holmes heir." He handed her a phone. Top of line filled with gadgets and extras that she knew for a fact cost a lot. John had grudgingly refused to give her a phone just from the simple fact that it would cost too much and he felt she was too " young". He had wanted to, but just the simple fact that she'd want all the gadgets and extra apps that would cost money had caused him to say no. He couldn't say no to this though. Just put it on the list of things Mycroft was constantly buying her. This phone was a necessity, John would see the practicality of Eloise having her own phone. _Plus_ , Eloise thought, _this phone was absolutely beautiful_ , the case wasn't anything ghastly like pink or sparkly with glitter and rhinestones, it wasn't like some of the phones the girls in her grade tended to have, it was a simple deep shade of blue. PLus it was the newest model, not even out in the stores.

Eloise was at a loss for words. Of all the things she expected Mycroft to do, give her a cell phone wasn't high on the list. In fact it wasn't on the list. She'd accept it, of course, but she was confused as to why he'd do this for her. Why he did any of the things her did for her. The phone was slim and cool, fresh from the box most like."I've already entered my number and those of your fathers, plus DI Lestrade since he is your godfather. I'm sure you'll busy yourself with entering the many numbers of your friends. And that girl who's brother is a teachers aid in your art class. Jacob I think his name was. " Mycroft watched Eloise carefully.He eyed the way she handled the phone and her reaction. He was a little nervous, he hadn't exactly been the best older brother to Sherlock and since childhood Sherlock has always disliked him, constantly thwarting his attempts at showing he cares for him and belittling him at every chance. He'd decided the day he learned of Eloise's birth that he wouldn't make the same mistakes with this Holmes. But seeing as Sherlock was suspicious of his every gesture of kindness he bestowed upon Eloise throughout her thirteen years of life he'd done little but become a glorified checkbook.

"Why do you have Uncle Greg's number?" Eloise asked, smirking before she could stop herself. She;d heard that comment about Jacob, and her Father was bad enough at home, looking at the extra care she put into her look on the day's she had certain classes. So she decided that if Uncle Mycroft wanted to play the boy card, she would too. She kept her voice as innocent as possible, keeping her eyes on her new phone, quickly going through the settings and downloading apps. Using the reflection on the phone, she could see the nervous twitch that Mycroft tried to hide as him adjusting himself in the chair. But she saw it. She saw everything.

Mycroft gave her a tight smile, "You should call John, tell him I've given you a phone and will be sending you home shortly."

"But they're on a case."

"Yes well, if I know your father, then he should have solved it by now. It's been around three hours since you've been here, he should have figured it out in the first thirty seconds but he chooses to be stubborn."

Eloise nodded absently, not knowing how to respond to that. Not knowing how to respond to Mycrofts gesture at all. So she settled for what she would do were it John or Sherlock.

"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft." Eloise stood up and walked to her uncles side to deposit a light peck on his cheek. She heard him let out a slight breath, could have been a sigh of relief. Or maybe a gasp of surprise. Either way, Eloise counted that as a win.


	7. Uncle Lestrade

Eloise flitted around the crime scene, taking time to talk to the relatives of the victim, charming them all effortlessly. Behind her, a tall gangly boy took notes and tried to subtly sniff her hair when she was preoccupied. Lestrade didn't know what to make of it. He'd called Sherlock to help out on the case and got Eloise instead. He didn't mind that too much, she had in fact grew up around all this, and her fathers were the great Holmes and Watson. It was this _boy_ , following her around like a lovesick puppy that made him worry. He knew Eloise, trusted her and cared for her like she was his own.

He'd watched Eloise grow from a skinny, beautiful little girl into this elegant young woman. He was practically her Uncle! Why was that strange boy here here? Had Sherlock known she'd bring him? Was he her version of a John to her Sherlock? These questions ran through his mind and caused his head to throb. He tried not to stare at them but failed miserably and was starting to look unprofessional at the crime scene. Not like he had anyone to voice his annoyances to, per usual. Sally was tottering about in high heels and complaining about her swollen feet. Lestrade had all but begged her to leave the crime scene and rest her feet, and also give his ear a rest with all her whining, but she insisted on being here. "To watch the demon-spawn." She claimed, but it looked like she wanted Anderson to see her, seven months pregnant, with his child.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, he decided he'd better get over to the young Holmes-Watson and see what she made of this case. As far as he could tell it was a suicide. The victim in question had dressed in his best clothes, laid in bed, gone to sleep and not waken up. Too young for it to be some type of organ failure or other natural cause of death, there were pills strewn across most of the bathroom. The victim, Victor Cross, looked healthy and no signs of forced entry in his apartment could be found. Shut and close case, right? But something told him this was too cut and dry. The family insisted he was happy, wasn't clinically depressed and had even just asked his girlfriend of thirteen years to marry him. "They were childhood sweethearts....he loved her more than anything, he was happy, they were so, so happy..." The mother kept repeating, so of course, with theses strange circumstances you call Sherlock.

But Eloise had apparently bugged her fathers phone to have better access to any cases he might deem _Boring_ and turn down. Lestrade could hear her in the background,begging Sherlock and then John for just one shot at a case by herself. "You said it yourself Father, boring, how could it possibly be dangerous?" Even Lestrade knew she'd get her way. He'd honestly never heard her fathers tell her no and mean it.

Before he was close enough to hear the soft spoken questions Eloise asked Victors distraught sister, he reminded himself not to say what he thought the cause of death might be before she gave her deductions. He'd learned that the hard way thanks to Sherlock. Even if Eloise was considerably nicer about it than her father could be, she still gave you this look of condescending pity. Like someone looking at a man who foolishly believes in Father Christmas at the age of thirty."Eloise!" Lestrade called to her as he approached. She smiled in his general direction while not taking her eyes off of the sobbing sister of the victim. Reaching out with one arm, Eloise pulled Lestrade in for a quick hug, then turned her attention back towards the woman. He didn't feel ignored, he was awed by it. She was brilliant, like Sherlock, yet had a compassion and warmth that could have only been learned from John himself. The sister was pouring her heart out to Eloise, gripping her hand and sobbing, Lestrade had never seen a girl look so distraught.

After Eloise had gotten what she needed from the crying girl, she pointed her the direction of the rest of the family. Just as Lestrade opened his mouth to ask what she thought of the case she spoke over him,"The sister did it."

"But-"

"She'd been in love with the fiance for years, but the fiance was with her brother. They'd had an affair up until the point he asked her to marry him and when she said yes she ended the affair with the sister." Eloise smiled then, luminous in the somber aura of the crime scene. Lestrade was struggling to follow along.

"But-"

"The sister came over, on the pretense of talking to her brother about the wedding, once inside she made him tea, poisoned it with some pills she'd brought from home. She's an insomniac and had some left over sleeping pills, which she gave to her brother in a very high dose. Once he fell asleep she moved him to the bed room, splashed the pills all over the bathroom and left, locking the door behind her using the key the fiance gave her during their affair. Simple really." Eloise beamed at her uncle once she'd finished. Behind her, the gangly boy just gaped at her.

"Incredible." He whispered in awe. Lestrade turned his attention to him then, glaring at the intruder.

Realising that he was still with her, Eloise looked up in shock,"Oh, Benedict you're still here?" She wrung her hands and swayed from foot to foot, even someone as "daft" as Lestrade could see she was nervous about that boy, but he couldn't figure out why. Her skin was turning a pretty shade of red as she pushed her friend away,"Go on, I'll call you later and go over the notes for the blog, alright?" She was pleading with him with her eyes as Lestrade watched the proceedings suspiciously. Eloise Watson had a blog? Well, of course she had a blog. John had let her edit some of his work when she was four and old enough to correct any spelling or punctuation errors before posting to give her something to do that didn't deal with dead bodies. The boy gave Eloise a bashful smile before swooping in unexpectedly and placing a kiss on her cheek.

Lestrade's eyes turned into saucers, as he watched the little girl who's nappies he'd changed since before she could properly form a hypothesis grab "Benedict's" face and place a quick chaste kiss on his lips. If the boy had been turning red before he looked like a lobster at this point, grinning stupidly at Eloise who smiled back at him prettily. Clearing his throat loudly, Lestrade stepped in front of the boy "Benedict" to stop them from stealing anymore kisses. He gave Eloise a look of shock that he wanted to seem parental and concerned but probably looked confused and desperate. She was growing up in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. When he looked at her all he saw when he looked at her was the little skinny girl _pirouetting_ around a crime scene while John filmed her, finally not paying any attention to the great Sherlock Holmes. He remembers setting her on his knee while pretending to be Father Christmas for her, at John's insistence, and listening to her ask him to bring Sherlock a new magnifying glass and a bow for his violin and give John a new computer since the old one had a space bar that kept getting stuck.

He'd just seen her all grown up for the first time and it had been with a _boy_!

Had John or Sherlock even bothered to give her the _talk_? Did Sherlock even know about.... Well, no of course. There was that time he walked in on them in a coat closet at St. Barts. That he and John both agreed they would never talk about. _Ever_.

"Eloise," He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable about what he must do. He was her Uncle, if anything it should be one of her father's having this discussion with her, not him. But then she turned to him, flushed faced from that brief kiss, practically dancing in her shoes, he could see. He had to tell her. "How long have you and that boy been....friends?"

He hoped to take the safe route, allow her to feel like she could tell him this, that he wasn't just boring old Uncle Greg from the Yard. She seemed to swish his words around in her mouth before answering. Pursing her plump lips and twisting them this way and that way across her face in contemplation. Lestrade had to be thankful of one thing, she didn't do that annoying thing her Father, Sherlock, tended to do when in thought. It made Greg feel slightly behind. John would see him go into this pose and meet his deductions half way, Lestrade would see him go into his pose and know that while someone may still be dead, at least they will get justice, all the while not being able to contribute anything besides confusion and a furrowed brow. Eloise tended to smile, when she had figured something out. She'd gasp and then she'd burst out into this beautiful grin and start laughing her wind-chime laugh and you felt _privileged_ to be allowed to be there when she did that. Now though, she turned from him and began walking in the direction of the yellow tape separating the crime scene from nosy on-lookers. She glided across the space, her long legs taking her across the blocked off area a bit faster than Lestrade could keep up with but he tried anyway.

"Why do you ask, I have tons of friends you know this." Elosie was deflecting, something Lestrade had finally gotten good at detecting when he dealt with Sherlock. Now he knew what to do. Eloise Holmes Watson wasn't going to throw him off that easily.

"I know about all of your friends, Eloise, Sherlock had me do a background check on every person you came into contact with since you first started your ballet school. But I'm telling you Elle, I've never seen him." Lestrade grabbed her arm to stop her from ducking under or hopping over the restricted tape and turned her to look at him. "Does Sherlock and John even know about him?"

She gnawed on her lip nervously then turned and gave him a pointed look at his hand on her arm, she had a thing about prolonged touch, and sighed before answering him once he'd let her arm drop from his grasp. "He's a friend from the brother school to my private all girls academy. There was a soccer game, girls against boys, and normally I wouldn't suffer to sit in that crowd but lately someone had been putting liquid heat in the sports bras at all the games and I was on a case,"

Lestrade had a moment to think, _Of course. Of course she was on a case._

"Ben's twin brother Martin was playing, and he was uncomfortable in the stands, constantly fidgeting and distracting me, so I talked him into running a few errands. Even after I finished the case he still tried to talk to me and would text me at the most unfortunate times, when I'm with Father or at my lessons. So I decided that I'd let him ask me out, since he was slowly working up the courage to do so anyway and..." She bit her lip and looked away. She was trying so hard to hide the smile on her face. Lestrade just had a moment of disbelief knowing that smile was for _him_. That tall gangly boy he'd just met.

Lestrade watched his niece try to fight off the smile as she continued,"He knew so much, granted most of it was useless and incorrect, but he didn't mind when I corrected him, at all. In fact he encouraged it. I suspected after a while he was just saying things incorrectly so I'd correct him and he'd get a ki-" She stopped off there, but Lestrade had known where she was going. He was surprised he'd been able to stop herself, as fast as she'd been taking. After mentally preparing herself not to reveal anything else, much to Lestrades disappointment, she continued," He's funny, and not in that stupid boy way, all dick farts and jokes," Lestrade coughed loudly and tried to shutout the memory of Eloise, the girl who had a gap where her two front teeth should have been for months, had just said _that_ and tried to keep an open mind. He had in-fact asked her to explain to him about...this situation, but that was too much for him.

"I didn't tell Papa because every time a boy showed any interest in me he'd remind them that he was a _Doctor_ , he knew how to sprain a wrist should the hand attached to it 'wander', and if that wasn't enough to scare them off, he'd come into the room with his gun from the service and sit it on the coffee table where every one can see it. I mean, it's not like I have a bunch of guys running through there every day but they could at least make an effort! Don't get me started on Father, do you know what he did with a lizard pancreas and the small intestine of a morbidly obese man the last time I brought a boy to their attention?" Eloise no longer had that happy smile on her lips. Her nose was beginning to turn red from the cold, or the sudden need she had to cry, and he could see her shivering. But he couldn't decide if it was from frustration at her overprotective parents or the cold itself

Just as he was about to take off his jacket and offer it to her the _boy_ came up from know where and practically dislocated a shoulder trying to get his jacket around her shoulders. Eloise smiled at him softly, casting a nervous look in her Uncles direction, thinking of what she'd just said and hoping he wouldn't tell her fathers, "I thought you'd left." He shrugged and shoved his fingers under his arms to preserve boy heat,"We'd walked here together, remember?"

All he'd been wearing underneath his sweater was a thin button down. Rumpled, and stained with what looked like Eloises' lipstick. That made Lestrade think back to what he'd planned on asking Eloise when he'd first brought up Benedict. Especially with the touched look of surprise Eloise was throwing at him because he'd decided to not only practically freeze to death in the early March night but had also decided to wait for her and walk with her.

"Eloise may I... umm,"He cleared his throat and jerked his head to the side. She stared at him a moment, confused and intrigued by his sudden behavior. She glanced at Benedict, as if _he_ had any idea why her Uncle was acting so strange, then her eyes lit up and she gasped.

"Uncle Greg, seriously?" Eloise smiled then, her face opening up like a sun break through a cloudy grey sky. Lestrade would have melted then, as Benedict was doing at that moment, but he was perplexed. What exactly had she figured out so quickly?

"Just to calm your fears, Lestrade you're about seven years too late for the talk and I've already had the experience, so you have nothing to worry about."She was giggling! _At him!_ The man who was trying to protect her and make sure she was making smart decisions. Not that she didn't already at her young age, she was practically a woman now, but as a man this was something he knew a lot about.

Eloise was leaning into Benedict now, she was laughing so hard. Benedict threw him smirk that Lestrade he'd have to let slide since there were way to many witnesses and Elosie looked fond of him. But he couldn't belive she was laughing at him this way, in public. Like he was some daft old man. And what did she mean she's already had the experience? He couldn't even get these questions out because Eloise was suddenly leaning into her perplexed uncle, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and placing a quick peck on his cheek. When she pulled back, she continued to giggle at his confused expression as Lestrade struggled to put together everything that had just been revealed.

"See ya' later Uncle Greg, Benedict's going to walk me home so I'll be safe tonight." She was shaking her head and laughing at him in the most infuriating way and hold Benedicts hand in her own. Giving him a small wave, she leaned into the lanky figure of the boy clasping her hand and led him away from her very confused Uncle.

If Lestrade thought he'd had a headache before, that was nothing compared to the one beating at his skull at the moment.

"Experienced the..... Eloise Holmes Watson!"


	8. The Other Side To Eloise Holmes Watson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should warn those of you reading this fic, I felt I needed a chapter that wasn't all fluff. John and Sherlock both have their own very personal problems that they both struggle with. Those problems make them human and make everything about them that much better. According to a couple of my friends Eloise is perfect, but I want to show the other side of that. I wanted her to have her own problems.

Eloise grimaced at her reflection in the mirror, trying to keep her chin from trembling as she pulled yet another curl from her scalp. It didn't hurt, she'd become numb to this routine, she'd been doing it so long and so often that she never felt pain when yanking hair from her own scalp. Just like she couldn't feel every other strand of hair she'd taken from her head since she was thirteen. Looking at the hairs littering the bathroom countertop, she felt a moment of weakness. A moment where no matter how hard she tried she couldn't keep a sob from racking through her body. Her father's were out on a case, Sherlock had jumped at the chance to leave the house after a few weeks of nothing going on. In his late forties now, he still hadn't lost his agility and his wits. John, now in his early fifties, only went along with him at his and Eloise's insistence, he'd retired from his job at the clinic and Mycroft had given him a couple top secret surgeries on people who's name John never learned and probably never would.

They both thought Eloise would just be at home relaxing, maybe editing John's work as she did from time to time, or going through their old cases like she did when she was younger. But here she was, sobbing in front of the bathroom mirror over her hair. Her boyfriend Benedict knew her fathers would be out of the house for several hours, perhaps even a day, and she knew he'd be over within the hour so they could spend their regualted couple time together. The only time ELoise allowed him to be over affectionate and kiss her without any talk of her fathers cases or her own cases she was pursuing without her fathers knowledge. But she couldn't imagine enduring his concerned stares. His long, cool fingers brushing away the tears on her hot face. He couldn't see her like this, not on their couple night.

Her fathers found out she had Trichotillomania when she turned twelve, and after a few years of her struggling with the insecurities and fighting John's insistence at medical attention once she was diagnosed. She'd almost convinced them both that everything was fine, Sherlock saw through it, but agreed with his daughter that the aging John couldn't take too much worrying, especially since he'd been with Sherlock for nigh on twenty years now, the fact that he hadn't succumb to an ulcer from dealing with Sherlock in the morning alone was....a miracle.

As for her Trich, for awhile she did have it under control with that tangle toy they'd given her to credit for the help, much to Sherlocks disdain. But she'd recently relapsed, what with college applications, feeling insecure about Benedict maybe leaving her for someone nicer and prettier who didn't have a rarely diagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder that involved her constantly tearing out her own hair. She was a giant ball of stress these days. With nothing to relieve it on.

What with Sherlock always warding her off dumping her problems on John, and Sherlock himself not being much of a comforter, she felt utterly alone, her only solace was the consistency of her disorder. She knew Sherlock cared by what he did for you, the actions he showed you on a near daily basis that couldn't compare to words. But she didn't need his actions proving he loved her and that she was his perfect little girl, she needed John. With his jumpers and biscuits that he'd managed to get to taste pretty close to Mrs. Hudsons since she wasn't around any more to give Eloise them herself. She need his calm, sturdy hands smoothing down the tangle and bald spotted mess that is her head now. He would know what to say, as she tried to wipe away tears that chased each other like rain.

She had always liked to give her wild curly hair a side part, and often one side of her hair would stick up wildly in light brown curls, while the other side gave the resemblance of being docile, with the help of hair clips, ribbons, and bows. John was almost constantly slicking it down or arranging her ribbons so that it wouldn't poof up as much. But to no avail. Still she liked having his hands in her hair, liked playing with her hair herself. Eloise supposed this is where her fascination with her hair and subsequent disorder came from. Her strange fixation with constantly touching, tugging, twirling her hair.

She was constantly twirling and knotting her hair until she had to cut out or pull out the knots that formed in her hair from her braiding attempts and failures. She never thought anything about her constantly playing and consequently pulling out her hair as anything wrong, until she noticed how thin her hair had become on only one side, and then the bald spots.

She'd made sure to hide it from her friends, even Benedict, who she's been with for almost two years now only knows she plays with that childlike tangle toy as therapy for her OCD. She trusted him with that much. But he was in college now, he'd changed from that gangly awkward senior she'd met her sophomore year into this less-gangly-and-not-as-awkward college student. Whenever she'd visit him at University, some girl was always flirting with him and thanking him for notes and things. Eloise wasn't too much of her father's daughter to admit she'd been jealous. Benedict of course didn't understand those girls wanted him in the way Eloise had trusted him to have her after their first anniversary. He just wasn't on that wave length like most of his peers. He seemed fascinated by the criminal mind, which is what he's studying in University. Eloise had always thought it ironic that she still hadn't introduced him to her fathers even though given how much she loved him, she knew they would as well.

Now thinking of all she was hiding, how royally fucked she was as a person in general didn't boost her confidence in her relationship with him. No matter how devoted he'd proven to be.

How many kids could say they'd grown up bouncing between morgues and crime scenes since birth? How many kids could say their Uncle, who spoiled them rotten out of mutual respect of heightened intelligence, was _The British Government_? How many kids could say they'd been diagnosed with Trichotillomania? How many of the idiots she went to school went could pronounce Trichotillomania?

Eloise was trying, believe it or not, to cheer herself up. She was trying so _hard_ to dig herself out of this shameless spiral of self pity and doubt because she knew that the girl crying in the mirror in front of her is _not_ the girl her dad's had raised. This weak creature in front of her is _not_ the girl that Benedict claimed he'd fallen in love with

Almost as if she'd conjured him with her thoughts, a knocking at her door alerted her to Benedict's presence. He always used the same silly knock, and it briefly reminded her of the special code they'd created just for the two of them. After a night where Ben had shown her how much he really loved her in the only way her knew how without stuttering and feeling like a failure, they'd created this knock-slide code that she was sure even her father John would figure out, but it didn't matter it's effectiveness. It was the sweetest thing someone not from her family had ever done for her.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Eloise washed her face with cold water and swept the fallen soldiers she'd picked from her head into the nearest bin. Once she was sure all and any evidence of what she'd been doing couldn't be seen anymore, she walked to the door. Taking her time so she could calm the hiccups that wouldn't go away. If Sherlock, or even Mycroft with his failing eyesight, could see her now, they'd know. Her hair, in more of a disarray than usual, red tipped nose, red rimmed eyes, her hand constantly fluttering to her face which means it feels sticky and stiff. Like it usually does when she cries. She thanked god that Benedict wasn't that observant.

"Hello, sweetie." She braved a smile, failed, and began to sob, pitching forward into his arms. Seeing her tears her practically ran into her he was so intent on getting into the flat and being there for her that they collided. Arms sloppily grabbing and holding as he struggled to calm her while she struggled to not show any more weakness. She was a Holmes and a Watson. There is no weakness in her fathers, so there should be no weakness in her.

"Elle, what's wrong? Elle?" He scrambled to scoop her up into his arms, cradling her to his bird like chest, yet supporting her weight nonetheless. He carried her upstairs to her room, setting her onto her bed, and shutting the door behind him. He'd spent a lot of time in her room. Sneaking in and out. He never quite got why Eloise was hiding him from her fathers but wouldn't push her. He let her have her way with everything pertaining to their relationship. Eloise got the impression sometimes that he thought he was lucky she even talked to him, let alone kissed him and let him into her bed. Eloise thought absently of the time he'd complained about her bed being too soft, why it came to her now, as she ugly-cried in front of her boyfriend, she had no idea. She turned into the closest pillow, but Benedict had already put on his supportive friend face, something he'd been when they'd first met, and moved onto the bed, allowing her to get tears and snot on his flannel of the day. Blue, like his eyes she noticed.

She couldn't allow him to see her this way. She allowed him to see her without make up, when she first wakes up and she hasn't brushed her teeth yet, or when they're in her room, alone like this. Just whispers and kisses and skin on skin contact. But she can't have him seeing her _this_ weak. But as she moves to push away from him, he grips her arm in a soft but firm grasp, looking her in the eye to tell her he will not let her go. He made sure she focused on his eyes, so she can _see_. The way she does at a crime scene.

She doesn't need her powers of deduction to know he's not just talking about right now. He means ever, he won't let go of her ever, and he needs her to believe him so she'll let him in. He's broken down all of her walls and this is the one she's selfishly kept up. And all because she's afraid he'll leave her. Sherlock always commented on her surprising abandonment issues, but she remembers those nights when it was just her and John, waiting for him to come back, fearing he won't, that he'll leave their family broken and incomplete forever. Benedict is the only other man she's ever trusted who wasn't family.

Trusting what she saw in his eyes, she leaned a little away from him, allowing him his grasp on her arm, but moving the other so she could show him her bald spots. As he gasped, she tensed as she felt his fingers mover from her arm to tentatively touch her in a place she'd only let herself touch. But she willed herself to calm down. This was _Benedict_. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her, he loved her. She knew though, that should he be repulsed by her showing him this, she'd have enough bravery to make him feel like the smallest person on the planet if he did. Wouldn't be hard. He kept nothing from her, and it wasn't just that she could take one look at him and _know_ , it's because he told her everything himself. But if he pushed her away now, when she was feeling this vulnerable, she didn't know what she'd do. She'd break down and cry finally having something to attach these sad feelings to besides her hair problems.

"I knew it."He breathed onto the back of her neck. Eloise jumped, not unfamiliar with him doing that, but by his words.

"What do you me-"

"When you told me the tangle was for therapy I did research. Then you told me about your OCD, and since it wasn't anything like counting or saying things a certain way I figured it'd be the germaphobic kind but," He paused and they both looked around her mess of a room. He always complained about the fear of stepping on a pipet when he's sneaking around her room at night. Eloise wasn't messy per se, but why should she waste her time cleaning when she can focus on more important things like cases, where she has to put her hands on Ben to make him do that adorable hiccup sigh, how to pick locks,etc. Cleaning just wasn't in her lis of important things. Plus she'd always had John to clean after her and her Father, but he'd recently put his foot down and her room was suffering because of it.

Don't even get her started on the kitchen.

"I didn't ask because I knew you didn't want me to see you as weak, and because you thought you had it under control. But it's eating you up inside isn't it?"Ben pulled her back down so she could lean against him. His hands went to her arms and wrist instead of her hair, stroking, soothing, it'd never felt so good. She'd noticed that when he touched her, her mind could finally quiet down. John always said she'd grown to be smarter than both her Uncle and her Father, and while he knew it was a gift, he didn't know if it was a blessing. Having a mind that advanced, always working, always calculating seeing things that the average mind didn't, he knew how hard it was for Sherlock. Couldn't imagine what it was like for her. When she asked her Father how he coped, he said John. And right now, with Benedict's hands making the slow trek up and down her arms, she knew what he meant by that, now. She now had Ben.

"Elle, I'm not gonna pretend like I know every reason you're crying over this, or why I had to figure it out myself instead of you telling me, so just let me help you. I have been doing research..." Eloise didn't know what to say. She'd wanted this, someone to offer a solution. But the only one that seemed even remotely plausible had been the exact thing she'd been avoiding since the beginning.

............................

Yet still there she was, sitting in a chair in the bathroom while her boyfriend hovered over her with a pair of scissors and a determined look in his eyes. She'd acquiesced on the condition that he cut it himself. She didn't trust herself or anyone else not to chop all of her hair off. But Ben was a different matter. He cut hair for the guys on his dorm floor all the time for extra change when he didn't get enough from his usual job. She had to admit that along with his knowledge of mentally unstable criminals from the 150's, he knew his way around a pair of scissors.

Kissing the top of her curly hair gently, he leaned in until his chin rested on her shoulder. "I can't promise that this will one hundred percent fix the problem, but it's a solution, and I will be here for you when this is all over, promise."

Eloise didn't trust herself to speak but nodded and leaned into his ever capable and caring hands. She could do this. It was just Benedict. She loved him and he loved her. She _would_ get over this. She had Trich, but it wasn't the end of the world. Well that's what she's telling herself. As she feels Benedict's hands ghosting over the especially thin spot behind her ear, she goes into that paralyzing fear. She can practically feel the tears itching behind her eyes. But she was sick of crying. Crying served no purpose, but then again it was a stress reliever in a way. In her head she could practically hear John and Sherlock bickering over the necessity of tears. It gave her something to focus on other than the curl that just landed on the floor in front of her.

When the cut was finished, Eloise was beyong happy. Somehow, Ben knew her problem areas, behind her ear and just above her neck. So her cut those places shorter, resulting in a pixie cut that looked surprisingly good. He'd left her a lot at the top, almost like a quiff, and all she could do was shake her still wild curls. Smiling at her new edgy look in the mirror. It showed off her narrow chin, so much like Sherlock's, and the small ear Benedict loved to nudge his nose against when he hugs her.

"I love you."Eloise gushed throwing herself into Ben's waiting arms. He just sighed into her hair, and held on tightly. Happy he'd made her smile and that she had _finally_ admitted to loving him. Even if it was because he'd given her the mother of all great hair cuts.

He knew she loved him, and she knew he knew that and had argued that just because he felt a near constant need to say it to her, doesn't mean she had to say it back. But this was great, her saying it for the first time, and him getting to see that excited glint she got in her eyes when she was only truly happy or laughing at something she thought was incredibly funny.

He kissed her slowly, enjoying the way she folded into him so perfectly, the way she was soft an pliable in a way she only became after a specifically spectacular case. Eloise didn't pull back, simply stood on tiptoe to get better access to his soft lips. Smirking at the thought of his cupids bow and perfectly plump bottom lip that seemed to know how to make her heart soar.

"Sherlock, you're in your forties now, you must understand that you can't just _jump_ off of buildings!"

"John you're being perfectly unreasonable, I'm perfectly healthy and in very good shape for my age, I don't see why you're making a big deal of this now? You seemed to like it before." Sherlocks voice took on a seductive tilt, and it was enough to make Eloise gag. After sneaking Benedict one more hesitant kiss, she pushed him in the shower and pretended to be styling her hair in the mirror.

"Eloise, dinner! And please that was almost nineteen years ago Sherlock, you've done plenty of... _things_ since then that satisfy my needs in every-"

"Okay!! Okay!! I'm right here, I _can_ hear everything!" Eloise threw herself out of the bathroom, ignoring Benedict's snicker and hoping her father's hadn't heard him.

Sherlock smirked, then eyed her curiously. He'd stepped closer, peering at his daughter this way and that as John made his way to the kitchen. Eloise could hear him exclaim a breathy,"Sherlock! Or.. Eloise!! You know what I don't even know anymore I really don't I... I just can't right now."

Eloise stood still, trying to be nonchalant and hoping her father wouldn't look to hard in the bathroom as John grabbed the coat he'd just taken off and left the take out on the table in the sitting room. But Sherlock just watched Eloise intently, taking in everything he saw.

She knew it wasn't her hair, she'd done worse with it; dyeing it blue, shaving it, straightening it chemically and with heat, you name it she did it to her hair. And they both more or less indulged her. John only putting up resistance at the shaved head and dyed hair. But Sherlock was seeing more. The slight silver in his otherwise dark and full curls showing his age, and the slight lines around his face, but his eyes were just as sharp as they'd been. And when his eyebrow quirked higher, if possible, and his gaze shifted from her to the bathroom, Eloise felt her heart rise in her throat.

Smiling, Sherlock clapped his hands,"Finally, these teenage-angst years I've been hearing so much about!"

He grabbed her hand and spun her into his thin wiry arms." So should I tell John there's a boy in our bathroom or should you?"


	9. Sherlock and John meet the Boyfriend Pt. 1

John had left the house after seeing that monstrosity in the kitchen because he just couldn't deal with it. He'd pretty much accepted the fact that he was sharing a flat with a man who saw literally no point in even trying to be tidy, but he'd hoped to at least break Eloise of that habit before her messes evolved from a few scattered toys and her ballet materials to chemicals and body parts. John thanked every God there might be for the small miracle that was Eloise not bringing cadavers into the house to experiment on. She still had papers scattered about the house, and although she'd given up formal training, (they say she gave it up but really she got kicked out for correcting the teacher on her form too many times) Eloise still had slippers and sweaty leotards littering the hallway and the stairs towards her room. So John needed a walk to help clear his mind.

But the cold made his shoulder ache painfully, and what could he really do at this time of night? He was nearing fifty, well, he was in his fifties, but early fifties mind you. All his mates he had through Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson had passed some time ago, Lestrade was retired and trying hard to keep Sherlock, and Eloise, away with case requests, Molly was getting her second Doctorate and had no real time for them besides showing Sherlock the occasional body, and... well that was it. Right? John's life had been solely Sherlock and Eloise these past twenty years, he hadn't really any time to make friends. Mary called from time to time, but John didn't think he'd be able to call her a friend. Mostly because Sherlock would skin him alive if he found out John was hanging around his ex-wife, no matter John left her for him. No, John was alone, without Sherlock or Eloise to cluck over.

As he hailed a taxi to take him back to Baker Street, John pulled out his mobile to let Sherlock know he was coming home, when he saw an interesting text from Eloise.

_**John come home quickly, interesting development on your theory of Eloise having a boyfriend - SH** _

John had no idea what that meant, but it saved him the trouble of having to text Sherlock. A taxi appeared in front of him almost immediately, and John sunk into the slightly musty smell of the car gratefully. His shoulder was aching bad, and something told him he'd need a moments rest before going home to Sherlock and Eloise. Both of them were drama queens, although Eloise had enough Mycroft in her to hold out a while before going full diva like Sherlock. Sherlocks texts had always been kind of cryptic, John supposed he might as well prepare for WWIII

He'd noticed that Eloise had cut her hair, but decided that was because of her Trich rather than her suddenly feeling the need to chop it all off. She'd only recently gotten it to the length she wanted after she'd shaved it for a disguise for a case he'd forbidden her to be on. She'd done it anyway, of course, but John felt she'd have her punishment when the case was over and her hair was still painstakingly short. She'd always refused to cut her hair for her Trich. He'd been telling her for ages that that would be the only way besides medication and therapy that would possibly work, but like her father she had a thing about her hair.

The new cut had looked nice, but he'd been too distracted by the state of the kitchen to tell her properly.

This _boyfriend_ hypothesis confused him, more than Sherlocks texts usually did. He remembers mentioning in passing that the severe number of boys in Eloise's ballet class suddenly skyrocketing may have something to do with their daughter, what with her...erm.. developing a bit...early. But he hadn't been serious. Eloise was dedicated to her work, school or otherwise, and barely managed enough time for the girls begging to be her friend let alone a _boy_. And besides, Eloise never showed any preference or knowledge that there was an opposite sex unless it included her insulting them. 

John remembers the brief time when she was three, when she insisted on telling every one she was gay because her fathers were gay. She'd gotten the idea from the fact that her friend Nupor was Indian because his parents were Indian. Which, by her logic made her gay.

Although John had explained that he wasn't _gay_... per se, but he had, in fact, dated women for years before he was with Sherlock, she insisted that from then on she was gay. That was the only time she'd ever shown any inclination towards sexual preference, but she was three and didn't know any better so _that_ doesn't count.

John followed this thought, his face furrowed in concentration, until he reached the flat. He vaguely remembers paying the driver, saying keep the change although he knew he probably gave the guy too much, and walked up the stairs to his flat distractedly.

_Eloise didn't even like boys! She's been too busy taking over what she calls **the family business** since she was old enough to do my taxes. She's a model student in school, most likely got accepted to every University she applied to, and she's always home. When does she have time for a boyfriend?_

At the threshold of the door, John paused. There was a night, several months ago, when he remembered hearing giggling and then a muffled thump. For a few seconds after that the house was completely silent. He'd been suspicious, but then Sherlock had his attention again. His impossibly still fit body and porcelain skin brushing against his own. The sounds he made when John shifted in just the right way.... His _**mouth**_......

It was safe to say that the usually vigilant John Watson was more than a little preoccupied.

Now though, thinking about it, Eloise always seemed to be going off on cases even when he'd heard nothing from Lestrade, who occasionally pulled strings and allowed Eloise on cases Sherlock and John couldn't be apart of. She seemed to vanish for a few hours only to return with strange smile and ruffled hair. Although with Holmes who weren't Mycroft you could never be sure that it was any less or any more ruffled than usual.

John felt like an idiot then. Of course Eloise had a boyfriend! She's beautiful, smart, and like most Holmes, intriguing. She inspires a sort of instant loyalty, and unlike Mycroft or Sherlock no one sees her as some sociopath or psychopath. They just see this brilliant bombshell.

After a moment of euphoria at coming to that conclusion on his own, but then he realized that Eloise hadn't told him she had a boyfriend. He'd always accepted the fact that something's she just wouldn't tell him, but he knew,or well, _thought_ he knew she'd always go to Sherlock. Who would then tell John because Sherlock had almost no idea what wasn't and was considered a secret unless it was specifically expressed to him.

But Eloise knew she could come to him or Sherlock, or any of her relatives no matter what. Why would she keep this from them?

It could be that boyfriend of hers, who, John's decided, he already doesn't like. He's probably some older boy who convinced Eloise that her fathers wouldn't understand. He's obviously her first boyfriend since Eloise has always specified she didn't see the point in "hooking up" or "snogging" just because some one was good looking or they fancied her. She wanted a relationship that her fathers had, and this _boy_ obviously convinced her that they had that in each other. When, like all boys, he only wanted one thing.

John pushed into his house angrily with every intention of telling Eloise she couldn't see this boy any more and he would not tolerate her going behind his back like she does on so many other things. But the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

The boy was tall and lanky, mostly elbows and knees if you want to be specific. His hair was a dark mess on his head that seemed to have a life of it's own as it puffed up from his scalp and settled around his ears. He was pale, probably because of John bursting into the room like the Hulk, and seemed to sit as far away from Eloise on the couch as the little old thing would allow. He looked so very uncomfortable and John felt extremely sorry for the lad. He'd been in a house alone with Eloise and Sherlock for who knows how long and here he comes, bursting into the room ready to kill the man he believes defiled his daughter.

"Hello, Papa." Eloise said sweetly. The silence upon John's entrance had become uncomfortable and Sherlock still hadn't taken his eyes off the young man next to Eloise, which John was sure the boy noticed acutely.

John could see that Sherlock had set himself on being difficult, and probably had been up until John's return, so John sighed and sat on the arm of his chair since Sherlock had decided to take it for himself.

The better to watch his interaction with Eloise no doubt.

 _Guess I'm going to be the good guy for once._ John thought absently while giving a tight lipped smile to the young man. He hoped it was reassuring, but if anything the man seemed to shrink further into himself, glancing at Eloise, like he was awaiting orders or some inclination as to how to proceed with John.

John smiled at that. No doubt he was aware that John was the parent with the gun and knowledge of how to use it. But with John being so docile, if you didn't count his earlier entrance, the lad was probably swallowing his tongue. And that proved another thing. Eloise was in complete control of her relationship with this boy. And although it hurt to think she willingly kept her relationship a secret from them, it made him feel better to know he wasn't the only one who had a problem not bending to the will of a Holmes.

"Well, us just sitting here won't make this situation any easier,"John leaned forward, extending his hand and gave another smile,"I'm John Watson, Eloise's other father, and you are?"

The boy hesitated, looking to Eloise for encouragement, before scooting forward in his seat and giving John a firm handshake, meeting John's blue eyes with his own green ones,"Nice to meet you sir, I'm Benedict."


	10. Sherlock and John meet the Boyfriend Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so sorry that this chapter took as long as it did to get posted. First I was focusing on other fanfics I wanted to write but now that I'm done with that Series I can focus solely on Eloise, Sherlock, and John.  
> I did have temporary health problems and family problems that prevented me from writing but those are slowly sorting themselves out.  
> All I can say is thank you to those of you who have been here since the beginning and thank you anyone who's just now reading for checking out this fic at all.  
> I do plan 100% to finish this fic at 13 Chapters, and I would love feedback on what you want to see or if you want me to continue with another Johnlock fic starring Eloise or anything else.   
> I am open to suggestions and all I can say is sorry

_So far so good,_ Eloise thought as she excused herself to go to the w/c. In the beginning she'd been worried about John. Her father Sherlock has a machete in his mouth, sharp enough to cut through bone and sinew with just the tiniest inflection and yet a bored undertone to his voice that makes your open wounds _sting_. John, can hurt you physically, then heal it, and hurt you again in a different manner. Both were equally scary and hard to picture meeting sweet innocent Benedict, but she hadn't thought enough to at least try to hide Ben better and she theorized that on some level she must have wanted to get caught. But with Sherlock at least being silent and John being the warm man she'd been raised by, things were looking up. Benedict had even managed to stop stuttering. Eloise was sure that she would be in trouble later as Sherlock figured out that she'd had Benedict in the house several times, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

With Eloise now out the room, Sherlock saw his one opportunity to strike. "You've obviously had intercourse with our daughter, your relationship seems fairly new so either she used you or you pressured her. And I can assure you that if it's the latter I will give my brother, Eloise's uncle, _The_ British Government, permission to make you drop off the face of the Earth-"

John sighed when his partner immediately sat forward in his chair to rip poor Benedict a new one. He couldn't stop him though, just offer up an exasperated,"Sherlock." Even though the warning would go right over the aging detectives head. So he gave the young man a grim, tight lipped smile, and hoped his eyes said _Grin and Bear It_.

"I'll put you in a whole so deep and dark you-"

John wondered briefly when Sherlock became so good at threats. Maybe during childhood, adolescence? It could have come from Mycroft. But Mycroft prefers to let your imagination do his job for him, and if that's not enough, actually following through on said implied threat. But Sherlock was much more visual. He wanted you to know every deprived thing he'd do to you or he'd reach into your soul and rip you to shreds with what he found there. John hadn't been on the receiving end of one of Sherlocks purposeful tongue lashings in a long time, but he doesn't have a hard time putting himself into this kids shoes.

Benedict looked paler than John thought was healthy and managed to just barely get Sherlock to shut up before he mentioned his experience with cadavers and having and "in" with a pathologist who knows how to keep a body off the books when Eloise walked back in. She was radiant and smiling, oblivious to her fathers previous activities, and sat next to her boyfriend with a graceful ease known only to Holmes descendants. And like most Holmes' she didn't even notice the fact that her boyfriend was a shade just above grey and was grasping at the arm of the couch with a grip that'd rival women in labour. 

John said nothing to Eloise about what had just transpired, and instead shot Sherlock a stern look before smiling at Ben and deciding to at least make an effort for his daughter. "So," John cleared his throat and scooted forward in his seat, half shielding him from Sherlock, half helping his slowly failing eyesight,"How old are you Ben, you seem a bit old to be dating Eloise." John tried for an even tone, but one of his hands was preoccupied with keeping Sherlock in his seat and behaving, and adjusting the gun that someone (Sherlock) had had the foresight to leave out. John had wanted to be the " _good cop"_ in this situation, but Sherlocks comment about Ben having sex with _his_ daughter had him rethinking his original game plan.

So the gun would be a little... incentive, for this Benedict to behave himself. John knew better than to point it directly at the young man, but he pointed it in the space there should be between his and Eloise's legs. Just a subtle hint to let him know that although John was the easier one to deal with, he was only easier by half.

Eloise, noticing this, and quickly looked at the retraining hand John had on Sherlock, the way Benedict seemed to flinch at every blink the aging Holmes man made (they were few and far between, leaving him continuously staring at Benedict like a predator his prey). Eloise saw all of this in a matter of seconds, and her face hardened into a scowl so strong it'd make Mycroft Holmes beg for mercy. Her already perfect posture went from gracefully relaxed to rigidly composed. She looked like Mycroft in the way her eyes narrowed and she pulled apart her fathers piece by piece, unnerving John and Sherlock to the point that they both squirmed in their seats.

She felt an instinctual need to protect the weak (Benedict), something that'd been ingrained into her at a young age by John, taking full force. Her gaze became unrelenting, and burned into John's skin like a severe sunburn, leaving him wondering if his skin would turn lobster red before the night was over. He saw both Sherlock and Mycroft in her then. The way she studied him and pinned him down with just a subtle squint of her beautiful eyes and a quirk of her shaped eyebrows.

Benedict was still pale, and in the seconds it took for Eloise to realize what was going on, and feel disappointment in both of her fathers, she'd decided that her poor boyfriend had been through enough. She could tell that her fathers were only acting out of the need to protect their daughter and the pain of realizing she was not only growing up but was adapt at keeping things from them. But Eloise couldn't feel sorry for them, or even guilty. Her fathers lied to each other all the time, hell her favorite Uncle, Mycroft, lived his life creating and maintaining lies for the good of the country. Sherlock was a master manipulator, and used the "weakness" he found in others to his advantage. So why shouldn't she?

Even John could lie better than most people, having had to do so being married to a Holmes and working with a Holmes. He even lied to himself about Eloise's late Aunt Harry's drinking problem. Denying it even when she drank herself to an early grave. That's what they did, this family. They lied to protect each other and to protect others.

But Benedict isn't a Holmes or a Watson. He's sweet and honest, and hated the fact that Eloise was so quick to lie, not just to strangers but to her family and friends. He'd told her early on in their relationship, a rare moment of dominance and sureness from the usually neurotic and flighty boy, that she could never lie to him. He understood if she couldn't tell him things sometimes, but lying straight out to him would make her someone he just couldn't trust and he couldn't date someone he didn't trust. That'd been knew for her, seeing someone outside of her family actually wanting the real her.

Benedict is this pure light in Eloise's life that she never knew she needed. He didn't have cadavers in his fridge, live handguns within easy reach at all times, parents who ran the risk of never coming home every day, an Uncle who's name he couldn't say in front of her friends because that was top secret information the masses didn't need to know. Benedict's mum worked in a shop, and his dad as a janitor in a hospital, well clinic really. Benedict couldn't afford school so he was not only on loans but had two jobs, not to mention his running around with her on her cases from time to time. Benedict was, statistically, average. What her uncle would call a goldfish in an ever growing pond. And he loved _her_. Not the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

He was the normal she hadn't realized she needed.

And like she'd expected, her fathers were ready to jump into action, guns blazing, treating her relationship and the guy in it like a homicide case. Part of her not letting him meet her fathers was to protect him from this situation, but also to keep him as her private, perfect secret. She is the daughter of Holmes and Watson, and has lived in the largest shadow of her life for as long as she was old enough to realize that the people at school or in her recitals didn't praise her because she'd done something extraordinary, they praised her because she was the daughter of two of the greatest men in London at what they do, forgetting for a second that as far as consulting detectives and blogging army doctors went, they were the only ones in those two professions.

And because of that she was a minor celebrity. Living in London in a two bedroom flat left to her fathers in a will from a woman who was as close to her grandmother as anyone could get when not actually related, her uncle had a minor position in government yet the wealth to own a stately manor that he held all her birthday parties in since the age of twelve, and the fact that she herself was following in her fathers footsteps.

So yes, Eloise stared her fathers down with a ferocity that should warn both men that once their guest had left, she'd have very choice words with both of them. Giving Ben her best it's all okay smile, hard to do between clenched teeth, she literally lifted him to his feet and walked him towards the door. As she expected her fathers made no move to stop her, and she decided to ignore Ben's surprised yet thankful smile. Eloise surmised that once she closed the door on him, he'd probably faint and take a tumble down the stairs. She debated walking him downstairs and at least out to the curb, just to make sure he had a chance to call a cab, but couldn't see any damage besides a sore side and maybe a slight bump on his head happening should he take this dive. So, with a soft peck on his slightly chapped lips, she pushed him gently out the door and closed it slowly in his face. And stood there a moment, to leave her father's in suspense, and to listen to the telltale bumps meaning that Ben had made his way down the stairs.

While watching Eloise's face change into a cold calculating mask, so similar to Sherlocks it made his heart ache, John briefly felt ashamed for his behavior. Her face had become cold, and almost expressionless, but he could see the hurt and disappointment in her now green flecked eyes. And the sad thing was, he knew he partially deserved it, they both did. Here he was, a man of fifty, served in a war, worked for over twenty years with the Sherlock Holmes, survived sociopaths and villainous men all while raising Eloise and keeping Sherlock in check, and he was resorting to intimidating some young man who, if he'd made the right calculation, had actually wanted to meet them. Sherlock, on the other hand, was unnerved by his daughters gaze and sudden shift in posture and mood, but had stubbornly decided that he wasn't wrong in what he was doing.

John also knew that as the parent he should be furious his daughter had a secret boyfriend. But then he remembered he and Sherlock had never told her she couldn't date. John tried to catch on to the idea that he could be angry for he sneaking him into the house without their permission, but she did that with her other friends as well, and they'd never specifically told her she had to ask to have a friend over. They were hardly home these days, a sudden boost in criminal activity had them on their feet and gave them just enough time to come home and complain about London and traffic and how they're both too old for all of this. Eloise had always been kind of mature for her age and normal things like curfews and bedtimes had either stopped after she'd started school and took to waking herself up, or never existed in the first place. She'd broken no rule, as far as offense goes, all she'd done was lie to her fathers, but John had a feeling that Eloise had already rationalized this in her head.

Their whole family lied, and while John tried to instill in his daughter that telling the truth was important, but then he'd find himself in some type of hostage situation, and he'd have to lie and bluff his way out of an early grave while waiting for Sherlock to come and get him out of whatever mess they were currently in. And Sherlock was the worse out of the two of them. Teaching Eloise at a young age how to fake cry and get people to tell her things just by setting them up and, basically, manipulating them.

Some parents they turned out to be. Really what could they expect?

John stood, and made his way over to his daughter, determined to apologize for his behavior, yet also let her know that she should have known better than to have had a boy in the house when they weren't there. He also wanted to get to the bottom of why she felt she couldn't share this with them. They may have stopped actually parenting her when she got to a certain age, and they may have instilled in her the natural talent of lying, but as a family unit they'd always been close. There were little to no secrets between the three of them as far as John was concerned. Yet obviously something had happened to make her keep this from them.

Eloise had already realized that John would be the first to come to her, as a comforter, and also to reprimand her for her truly angst filled actions in regards to her boyfriend. But before John could get his hand on her, the warm hand that usually made her melt and forget why they'd angered her in the first place while she ran into her fathers familiar embrace, Sherlock spoke up. Indignant about not knowing something, about being out of the loop and not getting the desired reaction out of John. Hurt. Bone deep, knife in his heart hurt that his daughter, his own flesh and blood had kept something from him and was _actually angry_ at them (read: mostly him since he knew she favored John), for doing what he was almost positive other parents did when they found out their daughter had a secret boyfriend.

"Well, now that that imbecile is gone we can go back to the matters at hand. Eloise, I need your help with an experiment I'm conducting, we've an interesting case involving apple shampoo and a peanut allergy, John, you should probably make more tea before you begin to update the blog." Sherlock breezed past both Eloise and John without giving them a second glance. To anyone else, he may have sounded insensitive and unfeeling, but John knew Sherlock better than most people and he heard the pain behind his words. He was trying to fall into the monotony having Eloise created for them. Eloise helps him with experiments, John makes tea and updates the blog, they all fall into their roles perfectly. John knew, Sherlock had problems with change. And Sherlock saw Benedict as a very real and very serious change. Eloise would one day want to move out and possibly be with Benedict more now that both her fathers knew about him, which meant the time frame he'd cut into his schedule for the two of them to work together as father and daughter could be jeopardized.

 _John_ knew this.

Eloise only heard that unfeeling, mechanical tone, and what ever had been keeping her still and quiet in front of the closed door of the flat snapped like old rubber and suddenly she was terrifying and fuming and crying. She was Sherlock on one of his bad days, dangerous and unpredictable. As far as John knew she didn't have any dangerous vices. But then again he had just met the boyfriend she's been hiding from him for who knows how long, so John was obviously not one to make assumptions now.

She walked into the kitchen, anger in her every step, and yet she still glided. She was a tornado of beautiful fury, and Sherlock was her target. He turned, surprised, actual mind shockingly surprised when he turned to see his daughter with a fury and fire in her eyes that could not only match but beat his own, and it was all directed at him. She paused in front of him, close enough so he could see her light dust of freckles and crescent shaped scar on her left eyebrow from when she was eleven all perfectly. But far away enough that he couldn't reach out and pull her into his arms without her having a chance to tense and move away. Sherlock rarely showed physical signs of affection. But for Eloise, and John, he more than made an exception. He hugged her often, ran a hand through her curls which had once been so like his own, anything for Eloise. Anything so she wouldn't feel that crippling loneliness that Sherlock felt as a child. His parents never hugged him, and a study in some particularly idiotic book told him that kids needed physical affection as well as positive reinforcement/endearments. So he'd always gone the extra mile when it came to her.

But she'd never looked at him in such a way. As if he'd not only angered her, but disappointed her, and she looked him as if he were a stranger. No, worse than that. She looked at him as if she'd finally seen him for the "real" him. The him that Sally Donovan had always been sure of, the him the doctors who'd "diagnosed" him as sociopathic saw him, the way he'd seen himself before he'd had John, and then Eloise, in his life. And it broke his heart once he realized that he'd earned this look solely by himself. What happened in the sitting room with Benedict would have been forgiven the next day, maybe even later on this night, by Eloise, had he just sat and let her explain herself. Listen to her and her reasons for hiding this, Benedict, from them. If he'd allowed her and John to talk it out, pretending to at least _care_ even for her sake, maybe she'd.....

But this, his brushing it off, insulting someone who he now saw meant so much to her, and pretending as if nothing had happened and that she hadn't just tried to give them a peek into the life she'd hidden so carefully from him and John both, but mostly, from him, was worse than any of the times he'd left her at a crime scene or couldn't make a recital or disappointed her in any way.

He'd never felt pain like this before. This heart wrenching pain that made his chest hurt in an almost physical way. Sherlock was sure if she just yelled at him, told him he was ruining her life, he didn't understand her, that he wasn't being fair.....just anything he was sure other adolescents her age yelled at their parents, he could react appropriately. He'd prepared himself for these angst riddled years the way he imagined a young John had prepared for his first deployment. Once he'd gotten to the so-called _Trouble Years_ , and Eloise had stayed the same, the same rational little creature he'd come to love, he counted himself lucky. Sure she was talkative, a trait he was sure she got from John, but he loved her chatter. It meant that even if she was mad at you, she really wasn't, and that she chose to talk to you because she loved you despite whatever you'd done to upset her in the first place.

Now though, she was silent. And Sherlock didn't know what to do with silence. So he tried to reach out, maybe pull her into a hug as he'd seen John do for her many times during her childhood. But she flinched away from him so hard she ended up out of the kitchen and in its doorway, that same betrayed and now distant look on her face.

"I'm sorry father, I disobeyed you and Papa, I should be reprimanded and punished. I'll go to my room now, if that's alright." She didn't phrase it as a question, more like a bland offering. Her eyes unseeing and her posture stiff. Sherlock heard her use the same name and tone he'd used with his own father, and felt a wound opening in chest and begin to expand painfully. He couldn't say to anything to this shell of his daughter, just stare at her, willing her silently to look at him. _**At him.**_ Not through him or past him.

Sensing that Sherlock had no words, John moved in swiftly, grabbing Eloise by her elbow and pulling her stiffly into his arms, careful to compensate for her height. For a minute she appeared to be fighting, tears or anger or screaming, and somehow settled on something in between. She melted into John's arms with a heartbreaking keening sound. Her shoulder shaking and her voice warbling and wavering as she drew in shaking breaths before letting out sobs and wails, all the while letting John support her with his still strong arms.

Instantly Sherlock was transported, to a time years ago, where John was the outsider. Trying hard to get their crying baby to settle and go to sleep for the night only to have her fight him at every turn. Then, when Sherlock came and quickly quieted the already exhausted infant, John neared tears. Feeling so hopelessly useless and unneeded by the life he helped to create, thinking that she may even hate him as young as she was. Sherlock had helped him understand that Eloise just didn't know any better, and by John getting stressed, he was stressing her as well. That was when he would spend whole days observing the new addition to Baker Street. After spending hours together while John when to his "job", he studied and noted her favorite toys, the way she preferred her bottle to be held, how she preferred to be sat when he was busy with work. Sherlock and Eloise were close, in some strange way. Baby and man bonding in a way that Sherlock had hoped would never break.

Then again, he was gone, transported to a time still years ago. He's younger now, chasing a bare Eloise through the flat. She was nowhere near the double digits, he knew. Maybe three years or so off. He'd struggled with her all day, giving her too much sugar and not knowing how to properly bathe and put her to bed without John to help him had been different. Then she'd crashed, her sugar rush gone, and exhaustion hit her full force. Nothing Sherlock tried calmed her. She simply didn't want him, and wouldn't stop crying until John was there, calling her all those pet names that sounded so... _wrong_ coming from Sherlocks mouth, and she'd melted into him much the same way she was doing now. Sherlock had felt like an intruder, on his own daughter and partner. A lot like how he felt now.

After a busy case or dead end that caused him to feel insane or bored,he thought about Eloise. He wondered how he would make this perfect little being he created know that he loved her, and that unlike his parents he wouldn't be uncaring and distant. How he would make her know that even though he may be obsessed with whatever case they're on at the moment, she's the most important thing in the world to him. He wondered how he could become the one she came to, just _once_ for comfort. While he knew, she'd come to him eventually, and that she still needed him and loved him even if she chose to cry on Johns understanding jumper clad shoulders, he wanted her to trust him with her tears. Even though he'd never found tears to be anything but a necessary fall back when on cases. 

As Eloise grew, he had moments where he felt they couldn't be closer. And other times where he felt he just couldn't understand what he'd done that was _Not Good_ this time.

Now, standing stock still in his kitchen he realized that he truly was the outsider. Eloise not only didn't want him in this moment, but didn't want him at all. She had John to comfort her, and possibly Benedict to stimulate her brain, although Sherlock, even in his pained state, scoffed at that. But he did realize, watching John shoot him a sympathetic look as he slowly half carried Eloise up stairs to her room, that he'd just pushed away the only human being besides John who saw him as something other than a pain or a sociopath. Who loved him unconditionally and adored him not because of his deductions and case solving abilities, but because she could talk to him and interact with him on an intelligent level. They'd played violin together before her school schedule became too hectic, he'd play compositions for her while she went through her movements for ballet, they experimented and burned plastic into the kitchen table together all in the sake of bonding, much to the dismay of John.

Sherlock realized that by not deducing the room carefully and accounting for all variables, such as Eloise actually loving that gangly buffoon of a boy or him acting like nothing had happened would set off an already short fuse, he lost his daughter.


	11. John's Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took as long as it did, but I want don't want to finish. This as been an amazing summer writing this beauty and I think I'll miss the little family I've created.  
> But, that being said, it does need to be finished.  
> My plan is to finish before I go back to school and I no longer have the option of writing late into the night.  
> I thank those of you still with me and any newcomers.

John always though he'd met his match when it came to bull headed stubbornness. Sherlock could put a donkey to shame when it came to something he just didn't want to budge on. It was frustrating on a good day, damn near unbearable on a bad day. Eloise, as he should have suspected, nearly matched her father when it came to being stubbornly upset over something. The tension in the flat was thick enough to suffocate any one entering the flat. He'd seen Lestrade himself stride into the flat for a routine visit and jerk back as if he'd slammed into an invisible wall. He took one look at Eloise standing at one end of the room, engrossed in her violin as she angrily let loose notes every few seconds, and Sherlock in the kitchen, mixing chemicals that had a vague sulfuric smell that made his nose burn. That was the last time John got anyone to come to the flat.

John tried everything short of locking them in a room together to get Eloise and Sherlock to talk to one another. He'd call them both into the sitting room and try to speak as quickly as he could to get them to stay and maybe Sherlock would hesitate, although he'd deny it emphatically should you mention it, and he'd look at Eloise with guarded hope in his eyes. John would think that he'd finally gotten through to one of them and try to coax them to sit down, only to have Eloise run off, saying she had Uni applications to look over. Or that Ben was waiting for her downstairs.

John was too old to be running after his teenage daughter, and Sherlock had too much pride to do anything more than scoff at her. But John knew it hurt Sherlock to have Eloise give him the silent treatment. She was treating him much in the same way he treated his father, and John remembers one night, after she'd been born and John had fallen asleep in the hospital chair, that he woke up to Sherlock promising he'd have a better relationship with her than he did with his own father. He promised to make her feel loved and appreciated and _seen_. Even after all these years, John still had no idea what exactly happened during Sherlocks childhood. But he knew that life for both Holmes boys was anything from a fairy tale. They were born out of necessity to fit in with the times, much like the marriage between Mummy and Father Holmes. No real love, just necessity.

John liked to think that Sherlocks childhood and his parents' marriage, is what made Sherlock make certain exceptions for John and Eloise. Sherlock is, by nature, not an overly affection person, not unless it suited him to use it if it'd help get his way. He did love, but his love was one hidden in gestures he'd deny if you called him on it. His love was late night, whispered I love you's when he thought you were asleep. The way he personally tuned Eloise's first violin for a month before he felt it was worthy of her. Sherlock loved greatly and with his whole being. This tiff with his only child is hurting him more than he'd ever let on, even to John.

After a week of trying to let the two of them work it out their selves, John decided to pull in reinforcements. Which meant Mycroft. He understood that Mycroft and Eloise met for tea every Thursday, and that Mycroft found her tiff with Sherlock amusing. John hoped that by getting Mycroft involved he could make both Eloise and Sherlock see that they were both being idiotic and they needed to stop acting like a bunch of idiots and make up already. John knew that Sherlock had been kind of an arse about the whole Benedict situation, just like he knew that Eloise had overreacted just a bit.

So, with careful planning and a bit of help from a still beautiful Anthea, John staged a crime scene for the two feuding Holmes' to solve.

Looking back on this now, sitting in the waiting room of A&E, John thinks he may have gone a tad overboard with his planning. But he didn't expect to end the night sitting in a bloody _hospital_! But it should serve him right, he guesses, thinking he could outsmart not one, but _two_ Holmes'. One of which actually retained the knowledge learned in primary school.

The plan had been simple, a simple staged homicide complete with blood that John wasn't sure wasn't _real_ , although knowing how dramatic Mycroft had a tendency to be.....Anyway, Sherlock got the call from Lestrade, and Eloise got the call from the young new DI who had a crush on her, and they were both off. So used to not speaking to each other and so involved with the complexity of the crime they ignored the fact that they were leaving at the same time and almost took the same cab. John thought that laughable. Two of the greatest minds he'd ever known having no idea that they were being duped by a man who barely passed Uni.

The crime scene was in a warehouse near a series of closed down docks. Eloise entered on the north side, video chatting with Ben who happened to be too sick to come on the case with her but still wanted to help in anyway he could. Sherlock entered on the east side, squinting in the bright sunlight at the grey, gutted out building in front of him for a long time before he entered. The warehouse was a favorite drop-off place for Mycroft whenever he wanted to scare or intimidate someone and he didn't mind renting it out to his brother in law, as long as said brother in law allowed him to film whatever happened between Sherlock and Eloise. It isn't often you get a Holmes to apologize and he wanted proof that they were capable of it.

John's biggest fear, was that Sherlock would realize what was going on before he got the chance to make up with Eloise. He didn't question John not going because, well, John didn't go on most of the cases these days thanks to his aging joints. But he still provided medical help and watched via video camera whatever Sherlock didn't want him to miss out on. And Eloise assumed he was going to stay home and watch his shows. No matter how many times he told her that he was really rifling through her clothes for drugs or that he was actually working on the blog that he and Sherlock still had, she knew he was watching bad t.v.

And, okay, maybe once in a while he did, but he deserved it! It's hard to watch telly with either of them around. Whenever Sherlock was off on a case and Eloise was on a date with Benedict, he relished the chance to watch crap television with _out_ the commentary of two brilliant minds.

Everything at the "crime" scene was going fine. Eloise had texted him a few angry texts about it not being alright to lock her in a room with a dead body and her father, with a few more expletives than he'd have liked from his only child, but he wasn't going to complain. While she texted him, Sherlock sent him one, simple text.

**_What are you planning, Watson? -SH_ **

Only that. And while that worried him more than the amount of curse words Eloise knew (seriously it rivaled that of a sailor), he was determined not to answer until he got the go-head from Mycroft telling him that they'd made up. _That_ may be where he messed up.

After they both came to realize that John wasn't going to answer any texts and that he was serious about them making up, they decided to ignore each other to spite _him_ and focus on the body. There's at least two _glorious_ sass filled hours of Eloise talking to Benedict on the phone and describing the setting and other details of the body while Sherlock periodically told her she was wrong and corrected her on her mistakes. Which led to Eloise making a smart remark about something that went entirely over Sherlock's head, and then laughing _with_ Benedict at her father's incompetence when it comes to things that didn't have to do with cadavers and criminals.

Sherlock, being her parent, had so much more dirt on her than she probably realized at the time, what with her being an angsty teenager for the first time and being at a crime scene. But Sherlock more than matched her sass for sass. He dropped atomic bombs on his daughter every time she tried to make him feel inferior to her impressive knowledge of things he considered trivial. He talked about her stint where she refused to wear clothes for almost two years no matter what he or John did. He talked about how she slept with a night light and wet the bed until exactly three years ago. He even told Benedict about how, whenever she got sick, she made John sing to her and lay in bed with her until she fell asleep each night. Just things no father should reveal about his already upset daughter to her _boyfriend_ of all people.

Eloise had a temper that rivaled both Mycroft and Sherlock, and John was surprised she made it two hours before she completely snapped and yelled at Sherlock like she had clearly wanted to. Sherlock took it all, interjecting in a calm infuriating voice that she was acting childish and he had thought he'd raised her better than that. Then everything got confusing as his low, robotic monotone went on and she was all out yelling. It was hard to watch. Then Sherlock frowned and stopped talking. He twitched a bit, placing a hand over his left arm and frowning in a perplexed manner all the while Eloise yelled and yelled. It wasn't until he collapsed seconds later that she realized something serious was happening.

Back at the flat, John had had enough of crap telly and wanted to go to bed. He'd stopped receiving texts from Eloise and Sherlock by this time and he assumed all was going well. John got ready to call Mycroft and tell him he was going to bed when Eloise called him all breathless and panicky. As she explained the situation to him, he heard a dull oomph and a very audible crack before Eloise, in a deceptively calm voice, told him to call someone to come and get her and Sherlock because she had broken her leg.

Now wait, before you blame John for what happened, just know he hadn't thought that Eloise would break her leg. And how could he have known that Sherlock would have a mild heart attack while panicking from his daughters fall that caused the false alarm heart attack. John just wanted them to make up, that's all. But no! That couldn't happen because of the two drama queens he was currently sitting in a hospital for.

Sherlock's heart attack had been a false alarm, the first and the second, just him overreacting as usual, and Eloise had broken her leg when she ran off the chasm near the docks while going for help thinking her father was having a _real_ heart attack. Thankfully Mycroft had been watching them the whole time and had stationed people outside the warehouse to drive them home. Never had John been more thankful for Mycroft and his spying.

When a doctor came to tell John that he could see his husband and daughter now, he jumped out of his chair despite his protesting bones and speed walked to their shared room. John was fully prepared to apologize and grovel when he walked into the room, it is his fault they'd been out there in the first place and he wanted them to know how sorry he is that this happened. But they didn't even see him! They were so wrapped up in a heated debate, both smiling and flushed face from the friendly argument that they didn't even see him doing his surprised stutter step into the room. But John pushed away his annoyance and smiled, happy that they'd made up.

Happy that is, until he heard what they'd been arguing about.

"Broken leg, Dad. Definitely more severe. Papa will be fawning over me for the next four months! Get used to being forgotten." Eloise exclaimed with glee while waving a hand towards her suspended cast.

"Oh, dear you actually believe that don't you? No, I expect John and I to take part in some much needed make up sex the second you're knocked out on your pain killers and he'll feel the need to watch my diet and exercise more because of my false alarm."Sherlock threw his daughter a cheeky grin as she pretended to gag at the mention of sex and the two of them.

John stood in the doorway, watching the two most important people in his world argue about who he'd baby the most. A part of him was a little pissed. He wasn't some mother hen or a butler! But, he was happy, content. He'd gotten what he wanted. Two of the people he cared most about in the world were no longer fighting. Well, _technically_ weren't fighting. Yeah, he may have almost killed one (almost both) of them, but that would have happened without his interference anyway just by them having that damned last name.

Clearing his throat, he walked into the room with a smirk on his face, leaving no doubt to the to shameless occupants that he'd heard every little word they said. Almost as an after thought, they both flopped back on the bed and pretended to be sicker. Sherlock lowered his eyes and drowsily called for John, Eloise (the little she-devil) had even worked up a tear. She was wincing in bed while she pretended to reach for a bottle of water near her bedside.

"Papa, it hurts so much."Eloise groaned in a weak, barely audible voice, John almost wanted to humor her and hand her the bottle she was struggling towards so valiantly, but he was having too much fun.

"Oh, my poor babies. Both of you hurt and it's all my fault."John said dryly, watching them both nod in agreement with him. _Shameless,_ John thought while he chewed the inside of his cheek. _Downright shameless._

"Soon as we get you both home it's bed rest and no cases until your both better! Agreed?"To Johns surprise, they both nodded. He guessed they probably assumed he would be the one watching them on bed rest. But no. No, John has thought of someone much more qualified for that. He could see the plan forming in his mind as he smiled at his sick family members. This plan won't be as severe as the one that ended with them here. No one will end up in the hospital (hopefully). But they _will_ learn their lesson.

"Only,"John paused to look pensive and chew his cheek again. He had their attention, both of them. They could sense something was coming but couldn't deduce what it was. For once, John was completely unreadable.

"You see, I've taken a job. A surgery in Dublin for Mycroft. Enough money in it to pay for that trip that you've been promising me Sherlock. But who would watch you two? I've already begun to pack."

Two very audible gulps followed this statement and John had to fight off a smile. They new they were in trouble now. Nevermind that it was John's fault they'd ended up in here in the first place, he now knew they constantly played him like a fiddle. Sure he babied them when they were sick, but now he was beginning to wonder about when they were ever actually sick.

As if on cue, Mycroft entered the room, his blue eyed bird like stare drifting across the three Holmes Watsons with an unreadable glance.

"John, seeing as how you'll be doing some work for me out of town and we have two very weak family members in need of aid, I wonder whom you've decided will watch your precious brood." Mycroft gave a small calculating smile. That smile knew about Sherlock and Eloise's little game, and knew that John was now informed as well. Watching his brother and niece go at each other had been entertaining. But he knew that John had a few tricks up his sleeve that might prove to be a better watch than two geniuses taking shots at each other.

"Funny you should ask, Mycroft, because I was thinking of you." And audible gasp sounded in the room. Whether it was from Sherlock or Eloise, neither John nor Mycroft knew. They were both staring at each other like co conspirators, loving this little plan/game forming between the two of them without words. Normally, John avoided Mycroft. He has been a big help in raising Eloise, but John still knows to be wary of the man. Mycroft respects John for his strength and for taking care of his brother, but wouldn't put him on his short list of friends.

This plan of theirs was different, and didn't require them to be friends. This was two family members coming together to play a prank on two deserving people, who just so happened to also be i the family.

Behind them Sherlock had begun babbling about how he's perfectly healthy and fine to take care of Eloise in her hour of need while Eloise agreed with her father frantically, anything to ensure they would not be trapped at Baker Street with Myrcroft Holmes for however long John would be gone. But John shook his head and shushed them both quickly, Mycroft was on board and this was going to happen.

"I would love to, brother-in-law." Mycroft practically purred

"Oh, are you sure? I wouldn't want to burden you after you've given me this job." John was laying it on thick, yes, but it only made the look on Sherlocks face all the more worth it.

"Think nothing of it."Mycroft said, flashing one of his rare and terrifying smile. He took John's hand and shook it, both of them ignoring the frantic beeping of the monitors behind them as Eloise and Sherlock panicked.

While his first plan was a bit idiotic, this next one will provide a delightful story to tell Lestrade over a pint on Sunday. Not to mention and opportunity to gloat that he outsmarted Sherlock and Eloise Holmes.


	12. Author's Note

Thank you all for reading my fic and for supporting me this summer. I know I promised you thirteen chapters and then I pulled it back to twelve but because of school I just don't have the time to write as much. I really enjoyed writing about Eloise and John and Sherlock so if I ever manage my schedule properly for once I'm sure I'd love to write more about the three of them. Maybe even go through the full process of Eloise's childhood and conception.

But for now I must end it here on a high note. Thank all of you again for sticking with me and my procrastination and for reading my silly little tales!

_The End_


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